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New England Magazine 


c^n Illustrated Monthly 

new series, volume xli 
September, 1909 — February, 1910 


D: l 

r . 


Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1910, by 


in the office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington 

All Rights Reserved 


. ■. Si: 

1 1 




Bertrand L. Chapman, President Frederick W. Burrows, Editor 

Old South Building, Boston, Massachusetts 



Abandoned Roads S. Griswold Morely 183 

Uu.ut the Hunters' Fire Charles Everett Beane 169 

\ | ),„„. Out" Mary A. P. Stansbury 705 

\u ain Friends Herbert Saake 659 

American Business Man and His Playgrounds — 

The Frederick W. Burrows 540 

Anarchist or Martyr Zitella Cocke 467 

And a Child Shall Lead Them" Edgar S. Nye 355 

Andover in Cambridge Professor William H. Ryder, D.D. 673 

And Johnnie Didn't Tell 0. B. Towne 492 

Artistic- Pianoforte and Its Construction Henry Lowell Mason 156 

"Baby" Ballinger's Soul M.I. Thomas 606 

Beautiful New England 

September — Views in the Berkshire Hills 

—Photographs Edwin Hale Lincoln 

October — Indian Summer — Photographs . 
November — Boxford, Summer Home of 

Professor and Mrs. George Herbert 

Palmer — Photographs Alice Freeman Palmer 

December — The Winter of the New Eng- 
land Poets — Photographs Clifton Johnson 

January — Views about Hanover, New 

Hampshire — Photographs T. E. Langill 

I ebruary — Winter Scenes — Photographs . . Langill, T. E. Marr and L. W.Brownell. 

Better Man — The Arthur Reichman 430 

Bigelow Studios— The Wilder D. Quint 513 

Boston s New Suburban District — Watertown. .Charles M. Rockwood 549 

Boston and the Tariff Col. Albert Clarke 545 

Boston and the White Slave Trance Frank W. Chase 531 

( asting Bread Upon the Waters Mildred Nutter Frost 589 

Cattle industry of Boston — The Willard C. Schouler 328 

' 1 America— An Opening Market for New 

England's Export Trade Louis A. Frothingham 265 

Christkind and a Boston Boy Charles Fessenden Nichols 417 

Christinas Thorn — The .Edith Rickert 404 

Christmas Dance A Frank H. Sweet 485 

( ivic Improvement, What Has Been Done in 

Hartford, Connecticut . .Ethel Loomis Dickinson 803 

( olon< I Whalley's Gift Edward Morrison 447 

Converted Cosmopolitan — A — Illustrated by R. 

I. Conklin Edith Elmer Wood 567 

Di ith of a God— The Walter S. Cramp 370 

D< • lopmenl of Middlesex Pells — The Frederick W. Coburn 813 

( >" f Steel Anne Partlan 189 

"DrudghV QQ5 

Exeter, New Hampshire John Phillips 687 

External Feminine The Anne Partlan 498 

INDEX iii 

External Feminine — The Jane Orth 628 

External Feminine — The Jane Orth 75 1 

Glen Noble— Chapter XXV Winslow Hall 880 

Glen Noble — Chapter XXIX Winslow Hall 237 

Glen Noble— Chapter XXX Winslow Hall 305 

Growth of Christian Science — The Wilder D. Quint 311 

Guiseppi Verdi and His Milan Haunts Florence Amelia Cummings 649 

Honest Politician — An Charles Lowe Swift 204 

Hunters' El Dorado in Black and White — A. . . .fharles Everett Beane 788 

Hunting Wil4 Bees in Vermont Woods — I Marshall Otis Howe 193 

Hunting Wild Bees in Vermont Woods — II.. . .Marshall Otis Hoxve 342 

Idyl of the Bottomlands — An Frank H. Sweet 84/5 

In New England— September, October, Novem- 
ber, December, January, February. 

Initiative — Loyalty Elbert Hubbard 415 

In Praise of the Apple W. B. Conant 56] 

Leaders of Great New England Movements. 

Mary Baker Eddy and Her Works— II.. . .Alfred Farlow 421 

Little Italy Alongthe Banks of theMerrimac — A.Joseph McCarthy 832 

Mammy Josephine Compton Bray 614 

Marionettes of Little Sicily Lucy B. Jerome 745 

Memorial Hospital for Infants as a Centre of 

Education for the Study of Early Lif e . Thomas Morgan Rotch, M.D 680 

Mermaids' Nursling — The. Charles A. Campbell 470 

Milton on the Neponset D. Elfleda Chandler 291 

Mt. Kathadin, Maine Alfred Ernest Keet 284 

My Grandfather's Story .James Raymond Perry 225 

Napoleonic Memoirs F. P. Stearns 232 

Napoleonic Memoirs F. P. Stearns 365 

New Bedford — The Wonderful Growth of. . . . W. H. B. Remington 819 

New Dartmouth — The Melvin 0. Adams and William T. 

Atwood 521 

New England Heroine in Contemporary Fiction 

—The Mrs. T. W. White 725 

Old Lower Falls and Its Church — W T ith Illus- 
trations by the Author Thos. Casilear Cole 349 

On the Laying of the Corner Stone of the Opera 

House at Bayreuth Richard Wagner 149 

Outdoors with a Camera in Winter. L. W. Brownell 621 

Panardaram Salt Works — The Albert Cook Church 489 

Pathology of School Discipline — The — Being a 
Chapter Out of the Annals of Flagella- 
tion Lewis M. Terman, Ph.D 479 

Pets I Have Kept Dr. R. W. Shufeldt, Fellow Amer- 
ican Ornithologists' Union, etc. 415 

Phineas and the Motor Car Eleanor H. Porter 150 

Planning A New Pleasure Park for Greater 

Boston George F. Howell 579 

Plant Life of Old Homesteads William Whitman Bailey 733 

Power — The Wizard of New England Develop- 
ment Clayton M. Jones 597 

Red and Blue War of 1909 Walter M. Pratt 777 

Restitution — A Story Ethel F. Horner 735 

Lore — About Dr. J. A. F. Orbaan 873 

Roman FolMore 


Science and Agriculture James E. Tracy 854 

Significance of the Present Dance Movement — 

The Lucia Gale Barber 273 

Some Adventures of the 'Wife and Son of Henry 

Hudson , .Millard F. Hudson 216-836 

Spider and the Fly- The . .S. F. Aaron 438 

Story of Rockland — The Charles W . Rockwood 455 

Switzerland — III George Presbrey Howell 850 

Tax Which Would Moderate Excessive R nts 

— A Herbert Constable 338 

Telling of the Good Men Do Wilder D. Quint .' 866 

Test of the Unforeseen— The Phil. M. Riley 321 

Twenty-rive Hundred Miles with "Fitz". ..... .Hon. John F. O'Connell 700 

Valley of Streams — The — A Glimpse of a Re- 
mote Italian Village — With Photo- 
graphs by the Author Lydia J. Dale 715 

Wanted — A Peacemaker Thomas Kinniff 860 

When Half Gods Go, the Gods Arrive Joanna Gleed Strange 285 

Who Will Administer the New Charter Charles W. Restarich 179 

Who Will Administer the New Boston Charter. .James A. White 609 

Winter of the New England Poets — The Cliffton Johnson 393 

With the New England Boards of Trade — 
September, October, November, De- 
cember, January, February. 


Across the Sea at Winthrop. Pauline Carrington Bouve 254 

Autumn Alfred Ernest Keet 284 

Canadian Boat Song — The Sir John (No) Moore 155 

I )awn Song George G. Shedd 437 

Early Evening by the Sea Louise Winslow Kidder. ....... 341 

Fame Aloysius Coll 732 

First Snow — The Edwin L. Sabin 182 

Forest Revel— The Nathan Haskell Dole 416 

Friendly Bondsman — The. . Arthur W. Peach 364 

Friend or Foe Clarence H. Urner 734 

Homing Instinct John Clair Minot 608 

Iamgo Diei T. L. Hoover 844 

I Dreamed of Home Last Night J. J. Meehan 853 

If They Are Right Nancy Higginson 337 

1,1 Winter Gertrude Louise Small 744 

Nocturne Ethel Syford 530 

Von Sequiter From the Chinese Edith Stevens Giles and Woon 

Hong Fay 177 

>l,,ii "The Aloyisus Coll 685 

Sonnets of an [nvalid .Florence Kiper 168 

Sonnei Florence Kiper 658 

Spendthrift Theodosia Garrison 230 

Thanksgiving Ethel Syford 290 

To Beverly b. R. Bulkeley 787 

[ nconquered Arthur Wallace Peach 671 

Wild Annie's Down by the Side o' the Sea Ethel Syford 446 

photograph by Edwin fjale i.incoiri 

Waconah Falls, Windsor 

Photograph by Edwin Hale Lincoln 


Photograph by K<iu in ff 

IvOMBARDY Poplars 

Photograph by Edwin Hale Lincoln 

A Berkshire forest in the Eai,i, 

The Oliver Wendeee Hoemes pine, PittsEieed 

Photograph by Edwin Hale Lincoln 

White birches in winter 

B page 800 

Three beautiful specimens with those ridiculous tails" 

New England Magazine 

Vol. XLI 


Number i 

The Red and Blue War of 1909 


TL T EVER in the history of New 
[^L England, if in this country, 
1 i have military manoeuvres 
been held of the magnitude of those 
which took place from August 14th to 
21st, 1909, in Southern Massachusetts. 

Never before has so much time and 
money been ex- 
pended by the gov- 
ernment of the vari- 
ous states whose 
troops participated. 
Never have the citi- 
zens of any district 
shown more interest 
in military affairs, 
and never in history 
have plans oeen kept 
so secret from citi- 
zens and soldiers 

It is the first time 
in the history of mil- 
itary manoeuvres in 
this country that 
transports v/ere used 
and no permanent 
camps weie made. 
The manoeuvres 
were considered of 
sufficient importance for foreign na- 
tions to send military attaches, and the 
interest the entire country manifested 
was shown by the fact that over 
250 newspaper representatives accom- 
panied the troops, the majority com- 

The New England Magazine 
correspondent at the eront 

ing from states other than Massachu- 

For weeks before the manoeuvres 
commenced the papers contained col- 
umns of contradictory information, the 
only official information given to the 
press was the date. Even the officers 
of the various out- 
fits did not know 
where they were to 
be sent until some 
forty-eight hours be- 
fore their departure. 
They were told 
that they were to de- 
fend Boston War 
was supposed to 
have broken out be- 
tween the United 
States and a foreign 
power. The Navy 
was supposed to 
have been either de- 
feated or destroyed, 
or else lured away 
from the neighbor- 
hood of Massachu- 

The War Depart- 
ment, at Washing- 
ton had received information that a 
fleet of transports, escorted by a naval 
force, was approaching New England, 
bringing 10,000 troops with the idea of 
seizing the forts of Boston from the 
land and that the objective point for 




The timely arrival oE Coe. Talbot and the cadets 

the transports was somewhere from 
Buzzards Bay to Salisbury Beach. 

The object of the manoeuvres was to 
show just how hard or easy it would 
be for invaders to land from transports 
and push forward inland for the cap- 
ture of Boston as a basis of supplies, 
and to determine, if possible, whether 
it was imperative that more coast bat- 
teries and men be added to the Massa- 
chusetts coast. 

The defence of Boston was given 
over to the Massachusetts Militia, with 
the General officers of the National 
Guard in command, while the invad- 
ers were commanded by regular army 

The manoeuvres were in charge of 
General Leonard Wood and General 
Witherspoon of the U. S. Army, with 
Brig.-Gen. Wm. A. Pew, Jr., M.V.M., 
in command of the defence; Brig.- 
Gen. Tasker H. Bliss, head of the 
Army War College in Washington, in 
command of the invading force. 

Under General Pew there were the 
2nd, 5th, 6th, 8th and 9th regiments 
of Infantry, the corps of Coast Artil- 
lery, the 2nd Battalion representing 
the 1st and 2nd corps of Cadets, a 
squadron of Cavalry consisting of 

Troops A, B and D, M.V.M., a battal- 
ion of Field Artillery composed of Bat- 
teries A, B and C, and the Signal and 
Ambulance Corps consisting of one 
Company each. 

The invading forces consisted of the 
District of Columbia, 1st Field Battery, 
1st and 2nd Regiments Infantry, 
1st separate Battalion of Infantry 
(Colored), Ambulance and Signal 
Corps, Connecticut 1st and 2nd 
Regiment Infantry, Troop A, Bat- 
tery A and a Signal Corps. The New 
York 7th and 14th Regiments Infantrv, 
22nd Regiment of Engineers, Squadron 
A, 1st and 2nd Company Signal Corps, 
1st, 2nd and 3rd Battery of Field Artil- 
lery, the New Jersey Squadron of Cav- 
alry and the 10th U. S. Cavalry 
(Colored). The latter famous for their 
work at San Juan and in the Philip- 

Before the manoeuvres much criti- 
cism was expressed by the general pub- 
lic at the war department for ordering 
the militia on so strenuous a tour. 
"Why," said they, "it is absurd to ex- 
pect citizen soldiers to go from the 
offices and workshops into the field 
and rough it with the regulars." But 
no complaints were heard from the 



citizen soldier; he was pleased and 
keen about going, and as the time drew 
near became impatient to start. So 
enthusiastic were most that they gave 
up Saturdays and Sundays for weeks 
before the appointed date, and com- 
panies of infantry could be seen on 
practice marches all over the state. 
The men themselves trained and did 
what they could to get in the best 
physical condition, for they knew the 
manoeuvres were to be "no boys' play," 
but would involve miles of marching 
over fields, through meadows, swamps 
and forests with sandy soil to make it 
harder. The manoeuvres held this sum- 
mer would have been impossible a few 
years ago. But the second lire of de- 
fence, as the regulars now term the 
National Guard, is a very differ- 
ent proposition from the militia 
of old. In the olden days mus- 
ter, as it was then called, was nothing 

but a week's vacation. To-day it is 
work, work, work and then more work. 
In the olden days enlisted men took 
along trunks filled with fancy uniforms, 
cot beds, a case or two of beer and, 
possibly, a man to do the dirty work. 
In those days there were tents to sleep 
in and the meals were served in a mess 
hall, dress parades were held and their 
lady friends attended. How different 
it is to-day and how much more inter- 
esting and instructive. An enlisted 
man takes one uniform, usually made 
of khaki, which he wears. He camps 
where he happens to be at night, sleeps 
in his clothes on the ground with noth- 
ing but a rubber blanket between him- 
self and "Mother Earth." He may be 
covered by a Pup tent, but more often 
by the sky. Everything ho takes is 
carried on his back. Instead of dress 
parades and drills, with galle- 
ries of admiring women, he has 

Battery of machine guns waiting to go into action 



"Gus" Williams oe the Boston Journal 


sham battles and out-post work. In- 
stead of mess halls, with an elaborate 
bill of fare, he sits on the ground and 
eats regular army haversack rations, 
which consist of 12 oz. of bacon, 16 oz. 
hard bread, 1.12 oz. of coffee roasted 
and ground, 2.4 oz. of sugai .16 oz. 

salt, .02 oz. of black pepper, or, possi- 
bly, only gets an emergency ration. 

The Dick Bill has revolutionized the 
militia of this country. Before it went 
into effect a large percentage of the 
enlisted men would have been unable 
to participate in so strenuous a cam- 
paign as the one held this summer if 
for no other reason than their physical 

The physical examinations to-day are 
strict, come at frequent intervals and 
are carried out to the letter. Under 
the new law the militia, or more cor- 
rectly, the National Guard, is a part of 
the U. S. army. The uniforms are 
identical with the exception of the 
collar device. The equipment is the 
same. The government appropriates 
more money and expects more of the 
state. The President now has the 
power to order any military organiza- 
tion out and send it where\er it is 

The manoeuvres were not, as many 
wrongly supposed, for the sole pur- 
pose of hardening the militia man to 
campaign work. The principal object, 
as already stated, was to test the de- 
fence of the Massachusetts coast, but, 
secondly, they were to accustom the 


The ioTh U. S. cavalry at ITaliEax 




officer from the highest to the lowest 
rank to handle large masses of men. 
The increase of men under an officer's 
control tests his ability and quickly 
shows the line at which he ceases to be 
an effective commander. 

The manoeuvres were largely devised 
for the purpose of bringing officers face 
to face with conditions invoking hand- 
ling of large bodies of men, and the 
results achieved indicate that certain 
officers are qualified for advancement 
while some command as many men as 
they will ever be capable of handling. 
They were of especial value to the 
Commissary and Quartermaster's de- 
partments. The test was a severe one 
but proved that, with an occasional 
exception, these departments were 
commanded by efficient men. 

Although the manoeuvres were from 
the fourteenth to the twenty-first, 
many of the troops were on duty ten 
to fourteen days. The 10th Cavalry 
left Fort Ethen Allen, Vt., on the tenth, 
the District of Columbia troops left on 
the eleventh, while Battery A, of Bos- 
ton, and the New York troops, started 
on the twelfth. It was not until Fri- 
day, the 13th, that the invading force 
commenced to land at New Bedford. 
On the afternoon of that day the 

United States army transport, Kilpat- 
rick, loafed up Buzzards Bay at a five- 
knot gait, felt her way up the Acushnet 
River and made fast to a pier at New 
Bedford, closely followed by the Puri- 
tan and Pilgrim. 

The city had been all "agog' for two 
day, as well she might, as the scenes 
were such as any American city seldom 
sees and New Bedford considered her- 
self remarkably fortunate to be able to 
witness the spectacle. 

All the afternoon the moving troops 
filled the narrow streets, while bulky 
auto trucks of the quartermaster's de- 
partment rumbled back and forth as 
they moved commissary supplies and 
ammunition to the front. Crowds 
stood in gaping wonder at the 
strange and interesting sights, win- 
dows and roofs were crowded, 
every available place from which a 
good sight of the soldier could be ob- 
tained was filled. Many had dreamed 
of such things but had never expected 
to see them, at any rate not in the 
staid old thoroughfare of their town. 

Somehow, order gradually came out 
of the chaos of boxes, stacked arms, 
cavalry horses and mixed companies on 
the water front and shortly after three 
o'clock the troops began to move in- 



land. The route of march led through the 
northern end of the town and out into 
the country, and finally, bit by bit, the 
long line of infantry, cavalry and ar- 
tillery was broken into segments and 
sent into various fields for temporary 
camps, and when the sun came up on 
Saturday morning, General Bliss's Red 
Army was ready for its advance on 
Boston. It also found General Pew 
and his Blue Army on its way to the 
front and when night came its line of 
defence extended from Taunton to 
Plymouth, over seventeen miles. On 
the extreme left was the 9th infantry 
then the 8th and 5th, forming the 1st 
Brigade at Halifax; then came the 
Provisional Brigade at Division head- 
quarters, including the 1st and 2nd 
Corps of Cadets, Troop A, Batteries A, 
C and D at Robin Pond. The 1st 
Brigade, made up of the Coast Artillery 
Corps, 2nd Regiment and 6th Regiment 
at Paper Mill Village, near Bridge- 
water, with Troops A and D at Scot- 

Saturday night was one of the cold- 
est of the summer and the soldiers of 
both armies were too cold to sleep 
much, but lay shivering all night, and 
were only too glad when reveille blew 
at four o'clock. 

On Sunday the Brigade camps were 
spread out, each sending a battalion of 
infantry several miles South. The bat- 
talion, in turn, sent squads and com- 
panies to patrol and reconoiter all roads. 
The 3rd battalion of the 8th Regiment, 
under the command of Major Perry, 
was advanced as far South as South 

The movements of the invading Red 
Army on Sunday consisted of a simple 
advance and at night it camoed South 
of Lake Assawampsett and Long Pond. 
During the day miles of wire had been 
laid in advance toward Taunton and 
cavalry and bicycle scouts were sent 
off in that direction, giving every in- 
dication that General Bliss intended to 
strike the Blue Army's right flank. 

Waiting several hours the next morn- 
ing, apparently with the idea of giving 
General Pew an opportunity to act 
upon the information which his scouts 

brought in, General Bliss suddenly 
shifted his forces some ten miles East, 
sending his cavalry directly North to 
capture Middleboro. The cavalry 
scouts ran into the point of the advance 
guard of the 8th Regiment about a 
mile North of Middleboro at eleven 
o'clock and were fired upon. They did 
not realize at the time that the Com- 
mander-in-Chief of the Blue Army, Gov. 
Draper, was in the saddle within a short 
distance on his way to town, or, possi- 
bly, they would have attempted to have 
captured him. As is was, both parties 
made a hasty retreat. The shcts, how- 
ever, brought up the 1st battalion of 
the 8th Regiment, who entrenched on 
Pratt's Hill, just out of the town, which 
they held until nearly one o'clock, when 
the 10th U. S. Cavalry charged the hill, 
re-enforced by the New Jersev Cavalry 
and the Connecticut bicycle squad. It 
was almost history repeating itself. 
There was San Juan again, even to 
Richard Harding Davis, who arrived 
ji;st at the essential moment and con- 
tinued to be in the thick of all the 
battles during the entire week. 

Of course, the battalion of the 8th 
was driven back, but they retired in 
good order with small loss. 

At night the invading army had ad- 
vanced about seven miles. Its ad- 
vance force was in possession of Mid- 
dleboro and its main army was located 
at Rock, about eight miles South of 
the city. General Bliss stated that he 
had suddenly changed his plans and 
advanced on the right flank because 
General Pew had gone to the trouble 
of blowing up several bridges in the 

As night closed in the drizzling rain 
which had been coming down from 
time to time during the day turned 
into a downpour and added to the dis- 
comfort of the preceding nights of 
chilly atmosphere. During the even- 
ing the streets and hotels of Middle- 
boro were crowded with soldiers, sight- 
seers and war correspondents, the 
latter really forming a third army; 
every paper in Boston and New York 
having from two to fifteen men repre- 
senting it. They were here, there and 



A Quarter-master's train going to the eront 

everywhere, some went into battle in 
automobiles, others in the saddle or a 
carriage and many others walked. 
Wet or dry, hot or cold, they were 
never absent, and even the soldiers 
themselves realized before the week 
was out what the men with red and 
blue bands about their arms did in 
order that their friends at home might 
hear of the manoeuvres. There was 
no rowdyism or ill feeling between 
soldiers and citizens. The natives of 
the district through which the soldiers 
marched extended cordial greetings. 
Flags were displayed from nearly every 
farm house and both armies were 
cheered all along their marches. The 
kind acts shown were too many to 
mention. All night long the rain came 
down in sheets. When the two armies 
pitched their camps, green soldiers lay 
down to sleep in pools of water and 
sentries had hard work lifting their 
feet in waterlogged shoes. 

The next morning more than one 
soldier repeated Sherman's famous 
aphorism as he pulled himself together 
and fell into line at four o'clock, with a 
north-easter, the worst for many a 
month, threatening to blow away the 
camp. Shortly after five the Red Army 
advanced with a screen of cavalry 
thrown out on its left. This cavalry 
soon encountered a Blue force at "The 
Green," two miles north of Middle- 
boro, which finally fell back on the rise 
outside of the little hamlet of Eddy- 
ville. Here for three hours Colonel 
Sweetzer's regiment, the 8th lay in 
the slanting drive of the rain and fired 
from behind solid stone walls and 
mossy headstones of the old grave- 
yard on the hill, and held at bay the 
entire strength of the Red Army. Just 
as the 8th was about to retreat before 
the fierce attack of the 7th New York, 
the Battery A machine guns got into 
action. This required the Red Army to 



hold up until its field artillery could be 
brought up and put the machine guns 
out of business. After this there was 
nothing to do but retreat in good order 
and at one o'clock the Red Army had 
an advance of eight miles to its credit. 

As night approached it found the 
men of both armies drenched to the 
skin and facing a tough proposition. 
Not a dry spot in or near the camps 
was to be found and, in most cases, the 
blankets, that the soldiers were to 
throw over them, were as wet as was 
their clothing. The weather was cold 
and it was still raining in torrents. 
However, the men were pretty well 
exhausted after the long march in the 
rain with water-soaked coats on, Pup 
tents and blankets rolled horse collar 
about their necks and so slept in spite 
of the existing conditions. For two 
days and a night it had rained without 
let up. All the roads had been con- 
verted into quagmires and the camp- 
ing places of the troops had become 
really unfit for the pasture of horses. 
The men themselves were not only 
wet and tired but they were bruised 
and footsore and, in many cases, 
actually suffered. 

The Red Army camped between 
Plympton and North Carver and the 
outlook for General Pew was bad. It 
seemed as though the Red Army had 
got the jump on him, but he was 
cleverly concentrating his army with- 
out taking the press into his confidence. 

On Wednesday morning the rain was 
still falling, but after a while the sun 
came out, only to be followed by more 
rain. Although the men from both 
sides had a bad night they appeared 
contented even though they were still 
wet to the skin. 

There were repeated skirmishes as 
the Reds advanced. General Bliss's 
main body was marching directly 
North over the road which leads from 
Plympton to Bryantville, by way of 
Monponset Pond, while on a parallel 
road he had a line of defence from 
which a cavalry screen was thrown 
out. Hfs idea was to engage the Blue 
Army at every cross road with his de- 
fence, and under the impre c sion that 

it was the advance of his main body, 
hold them until his real main force had 
got a good advance. It was a clever 
scheme and worked beautifully at first 
and General Bliss in this way really 
succeeded in getting around the Blue's 
left flank. 

The Red Army won most of the skir- 
mishes during the morning and would 
have won the battle of Halifax at noon 
but for the timely arrival of Colonel 
Thomas Talbot and the 1st and 2nd 
Corps of Cadets, which was just 
enough of a re-enforcement to check 
the advance, and at one o'clock, which 
was the time hostilities ceased, each 
day, General Pew's army was holding 
its own. 

The Blue Army had been scattered 
over twenty to thirty miles of defensive 
line owing to the uncertainty of where 
the attack would be made, and on Wed- 
nesday night few expected that Gen- 
eral Pew could rally his forces in time, 
and the press of the country announced 
in headlines that it was defeated and 
Boston, theoretically, was captured. 
They did not know General Pew, nor 
foresee the masterful way in which he 
was to concentrate his forces. It took 
long and fast marches which astounded 
the Red Army. Even the regular army 
officers and the foreign attaches were 
amazed when, on Thursday morning, 
they found the Blue Division Head- 
quarters at South Hanson, with its en- 
tire army massed about it. 

For four days the Blue A r my had 
given way against the on-slarghtering 
of the enemy, and for four days they 
had been credited with defeat. They 
were not defeated ; it was part of their 
game to fall back until their army was 
ready. They were now reaiy and in- 
stead of waiting to be attacked they 
made the advance. 

At six o'clock in the morning the 
battle of Bryantville took place. As on 
previous days, General Bliss sent a 
force at the Blue Line while his main 
army proceeded North. The 1st and 
2nd District of Columbia Infantry 
turned into Bryantville with instruc- 
tions to hold their ground, if possible, 
until eight o'clock, at which time the 



Part oe the 8th Massachusetts at Cemetery Hiee 

army would be at North Pembroke, but 
General Pew, to use a slang expres- 
sion, "was on," and leaving a small 
force to fight it out with the District 
of Columbia troops, he sent a battalion 
of the 2nd Infantry and Battery C by 
a short cut through Oldtown, 
Furnace and Great Sandy Ponds 
to Hanover Four Corners while 
the 8th regiment and Battery A 
were sent double time by way of South 
Hanover, followed slowly by the bal- 
ance of the army. Engineers were sent 
ahead in automobiles to blow up the 

bridge over the North River and thus 
cut off the Red Army, but before this 
could be done they were driven back 
by the advance guard. At about ten 
o'clock the 7th New York, which was 
in advance, met the battalion of the 2nd 
at Four Corners. A sharp fight en- 
sued and just as defeat for the Blues 
was pending the 8th came up on the 
run, having come some six miles at 
double quick. They turned the battle 
and drove the 7th back over the rail- 
road track. The 14th New York rein- 
forced the Reds and the 9th was added 

Generae Tasker H. Beiss and Generae Leonard Wood, U. S A 




to the Blues and so the engagement 
became general. 

At one o'clock the Red Army had 
been obliged to call back the 10th 
Cavalry from its dash to Boston and 
was in such a position that they could 
not have possibly moved on without 
four or five days more of the hardest 
kind of fighting. Their men were 
bunched in Hanover, while Battery A, 
from a position a mile away, was send- 
ing three-inch projectiles into the town 
at a rate that meant annihilation. To 
all who were witnesses there was no 
question but that the battle of Hanover 
was a decisive victory for the Blues. 

At one o'clock the war was over, as 
Friday and Saturday were required to 
get the troops home. No decision was 
made and probably none will ever be 
reached. Unofficially many of the Um- 
pires expressed themselves as believ- 
ing the Blue Army won. General Bliss 
did not reach Boston in the time speci- 

fied and at the end it was a question if 
he ever could have. 

General Wood expressed himself as 
greatly pleased at the showing of all 
concerned, and stated that he consid- 
ered the manoeuvres of more value 
than any that had ever taken place in 
this country. 

The manoeuvres showed the coast 
well protected and made doubly plain 
the fact that Massachusetts needs more 
Cavalry. While they were of immense 
value to the officers they were equally 
instructive to the men and gave them 
more knowledge of army life than they 
could have learned at State camps in 

On Friday the Red Army embarked, 
with the District of Columbia troops 
going on to Boston for a short visit, 
while the other outfits returned direct. 
Saturday the Blue Army disbanded and 
the War of the Invasion of Boston was 
at an end. 



Fair spread thy fame, O City, spread apace 

A nation's breadth to gird, 
Strong as the deeds which do thine annals grace 

And patriot hearts have stirred. 

Thy far-off early years meant strenuous life, 

Yet shaped the common weal 
Pillared in righteousness through many a strife- 

Thy weal so pillared still. 

When crises in the colonies befell 

Large part thou hadst to bear ; 
And who would fame of Flower of Essex tell 

And mention not thy share? 

Put on thy strength and beauty now and grow 

Minding thy heritage ; 
The highest welfare of thy sons to know, — 

Be that ambition's gauge. 

So with high aims thy progress will be blessed 

With true and steady tread, 
As now thou puttest on thy garments best 

To greet the Nation's Head. 

*Read at the First Parish Church, Beverly, July 4th, in honor of President Taffs presence, and omitted 
from the account of "Old Beverly," in the August issue of the New England Magazine. 

a hunter's 
El Dorado in Black and White 

With Illustrations by Roland C. Butler 

if ir 

HERE'S Carville hik- 
ing along the trail 
and — Great Smoke ! 
pipe off the pack 
on his back ! Eooks 
like it weighed a 
ton ! Makes your 
load talk like 
feather language from an air ship, Jack. 
All the way I'd fit with that burden 
would be to furnish the grunts. Ship 
ahoy! How's she heading?" 

"Straight up in the air and over the 
mountain to Spring Lake," came the 
laughing reply, as the husky chap ad- 
dressed turned around a big boulder, 
swung his freight — an entire hind quar- 
ter of beef — to earth and vigorously 
mopped his brow with an ample ban- 

"Sandow has nothing on you, John. 
Sure you haven't horns, hoofs and tail, 
as well as all the meat in that bundle? 
Clyde is restless as a wiggle worm in 
a rain barrel under a forty-pound pack 
and looks ready to pass away when 
he even thinks of yours. What do you 
know about that after a week's feed, 
such as you have given him?" 

"Took several years of it to put me 
right, Jack, so there's hope for him. 
Better turn back and get another 
seven-day bracer. What's the rush? 
Don't think you know where more en- 
trancing scenic gems abound, do you? 
T haven't grown accustomed to seeing 
you about my camps yet. You'll feel 
kind of homey if you stay longer." 

"Wouldn't be ready to leave if we 
hung on all summer, but, delightful as 
this country is, its not the whole Dead 
River region and we must hike along 
or build winter quarters before we're 

half around. Our cameras have rub- 
bered your attractions in part, we have 
eaten your salmon within twenty min- 
utes of their capture on the fly, your 
deer have paraded for our benefit in the 
clearing across the lake and, with full 
appreciation of your splendid hospi- 
tality, we are off before we make you 
twice glad." 

"If you're game for a gamble, I'll 
put my camps against your time to 
prove I'll continue once glad and no 
more. Glad you came and even better 
pleased that you remained, but if you 
must move, perhaps you should say 
good-bye to an old friend of yours," 
and the genial fellow pointed along 
the mountain path. 

Stalking majestically toward them 
came a noble buck, head held high, as 
though challenging denial of his claim 
to premier rights in that particular 
part of the woods. Steadily advanc- 
ing with all the confidence born of 
freedom from molestation in close 
time, the beautiful animal disdained to 
step aside until within twenty paces, 
when he stopped, gazed full upon the 
trio, sensitively sniffed the air, stamped 
his hoof, and departed slowly, glanc- 
ing over his shoulder as he caught the 
double click of loaded cameras. 

"Can you beat it? Not content with 
rearing their imposing summits that 
the soft-breathed farewells of summer 
breezes may send emerald billows of 
evergreen rolling down their sides to 
the shores of one of the fairest of her 
innumerable lakes to be kissed across 
sparkling lips to you, Maine mountains 
bid their tenantry speed lovers of her 
outing delights, by the tender of such 
exquisite courtesies as that we have 



just enjoyed. Fairyland could do no 
more in the way of manifestation of af- 
fectionate regard, nor could it provide 
fairer messen- 
gers. I have no 
doubt scores of 
eyes, innocent 
of guile, are 
upon us from 
leafy coverts to 
witness this, 
faithful perfor- 
mance of na- 
ture's com- 
mands. Au re- 
voir, my beauty, 
thanks for your 
interest and 
may you live 
long and pros- 
per." With 
this pretty con- 
ceit, Jack turn- 
ed, wrung the 
hand of the ex- 
school teacher 
and, with many 
a backward 
glance at the sturdy figure waving 
adieus from the hill, he and his pal 
hit the trail for Flagstaff. 

It was early June of the present year 
and, in more senses than one., a rare 
day. A protracted cold period had 
loosed its hold upon the north woods 
at the imperative ultimatum of a sum- 
mer sun and promise was abroad in 
the land that the long-delayed sport 
of the season was hurrying toward 

Waters heretofore high and icy now 
warmed and pregnant with dashing 
speckled treasures, lifted theit voices 
in invitation to fishermen's delights 
and, at last, nature's guests seemed to 
be coming into their own. 

Evenings must still be marked by 
gatherings about yawning, open fire- 
places where dancing flames fashioned 
themselves into weird fantastic shapes 
as they roared up the chimney, but 
after a day in the open, the sense of 
absolute comfort in the cabins was 
born of things like this. 

Morning broke clear and bracing, ap- 

petites were sharpened by a little vig- 
orous exercise before welcome horn 
call announced the morning meal, and 
after a brief smoke talk, a twenty-five 
mile tramp on this day seemed any- 
thing but formidable. 

Bareheaded, clad in soft* flannel shirts, 
thick woolen socks under slipper moc- 
casins and light rain-proof trousers; 
hunting knife and .38 calibre revolver 
were hung from strong belts and camp 
axes were swung from their shoulders. 
All the simple needs of woods comfort 
were contained in army packs properly 
adjusted in such fashion as to forbid 
chafing, the outfit weighing in the neigh- 
borhood of forty pounds and mile after 
mile was cut out of the foreground and 
thrust behind before the rising tem- 
perature slowed down their pace. 

Never willing to admit weanness, it 
was, however, noticeable with what 
alacrity packs were dropped upon the 
bottom of the power boat at Flagstaff, 
while a long breath and gentle shrugs 
of tired shoulders gave mute evidence 
to welcome relief from burden bearing. 
If you consider it an easy proposi- 
tion to break into the pack-carry- 
ing game, there are people who will 
doubt the yarns you may spin regard- 
ing long tramps under any respectable 
weight, until several days have found 
vou ready to negotiate distance. Ever 
try it? Shake. 

fJi 0»'!kr'-^> .S^ -1-.itJ.S^y $&iy 

Hedge hog in the shed ! Hang onto 
those dogs ' ' 



Three miles of plugging motor and 
the landing at the beginning of the 
rough road was reached in good sea- 
son to pack all belongings except 
cameras under the buckboard seats 
and get away in the lead for a 
lunch under the trees, to which 
myriads of mosquitos considered them- 
selves cordially invited. Upon notifica- 
tion of their intention to take part in 
the festivities, exercises in their honor 
were the order, consisting of liberal 
applications of oil of citronilla and 
sweet oil in the ratio of one to three. 

Beginning well within the hair line 
about the face, this preparation, put 
on in thin quantities with due regard 
to the aversion of lips and eyes to the 
lotion, formed a barrier across which 
the little songsters could not come with 
impunity. The staccato notes of their 
discontent after a happy flight in the 
direction of the dainty morsel pre- 
sented by your anatomy had ended in 
discomfiture, linger yet as pleasant 
memories if you have been there. 

Lunch over, our friends set their 
faces against an eighteen-mile hoof- 
fest into King and Bartlett, with dis- 
appointed pests hanging on wherever 
they could find room away from the 

forbidding odor that made them dizzy. 
"One hundred and sixty three thou- 
sand, seven hundred and seven on your 
back, Clyde — count 'em, 163,707 — that's 
right. Your blue shirt is brown with 
them," and it was even so. They were 
taithful in their attendance until 
Spencer Stream was crossed, but here 
they drew the line at the hither shore 
and probably traced out the blazed 
trail on the back track to Flagstaff 
Pond. Some few were found further 
north, but skeets don't count when 
they can be reckoned in numbers less 
than a few thousand to the individual. 
Of course, you have noticed these and 
black flies ; yes, and mingies are always 
most in evidence where the fishing is 
best? Facts are stubborn things, eh? 

"Hello, partner ! Are you hammer- 
ing our back trail?" was their greeting 
from a two hundred pounder who 
stood beside a rough table in front of 
the door of a log cabin at the end of 
Spencer dam. The open door gave 
vent to an appetizing odor of good 
cooking. A nearby buckboard, at the 
pole of which stood an able-bodied 
pair of white horses, had been their 
conveyance from Blakeslee. 

"Not to-dav. It looks like we had 

Milium LC-Wf ^k 






our work cut out for us to make King 
and Bartlett before we take a good 
soaking unless I am fooled by yonder 
clouds. Gee ! but those trout smell 
moreish. Not one left? Loan me that 
rod and I'll soon get a mess from the 
pooi over there." 

This proved an easy task, for square- 
tails of half a pound weight came 
readily to the fly and in ten minutes a 
half dozen were in the pan, well on 
their way to that place from which no 
trout ever returns. 

While casting be- 
low the dam, Harry 
Pierce's buckboard 
appeared on the 
south bank of the 
stream and plung- 
ing into the quick 
water where depth 
was to the body of 
it, two husky ani- 
mals drew it across 
a rocky fording 
place, scrambled up 
the opposite bank 
and, with much 
creaking and clat- 
tering, the outfit 
passed along the 
way north. 

"Guess I'd as 
soon walk across 
the dam as take a 
chance that way," 
remarked Clyde. 
"Driver had to 

stand on the seat, with everything afloat 
under him. I'll bet your mackinaw is 
a bit damp around the edges, Jack." 

"Nothing I have with me is 
too good for hard usage, you 
croaker. Can't keep your hair parted 
and wear a stand-up-dickey with 
patent leathers in this country. Any- 
body would think you had never 
smelled balsam for weeks at a time in 
the Maine woods with a fine prospect 
of eating your peck of dirt all in a 
bunch when I do the cooking. You'll 
make less of those funny cracks when 
this tramp is over, for its a fairly long 
trail into camp and by no means as- 
phalt, though a good way from being 

downright bad. You'll have a fine 
chance to break in those new mocca- 
sins before night." 

"Then let's get a move on. Your 
legs are longer than mine and I don't 
like the way you swing them when 
you are rushing. Which road?" 

Direction from the driver: "First 
road to the left after crossing the 
stream and first trail to the right, down 
to Little King, where you'll find a boat. 
Go up the lake to the landing and cut 
off about three miles by taking a path 
from there to 

Pressing along in 
the wake of the 
buckboard rattle, a 
trail soon appeared 
and was so well 
travelled that they 
started that way 
and went half a 
mile before they 
discovered it ran 
parallel with Spen- 
cer Stream. 

"We're in wrong, 
Clyde ; this must be 
the trail to Dead 
River. Right-about 
face !" 

"Wish I'd hung 
back there till you 
got over investigat- 
ing. Another mile 
added to our hike. 
Got any more 

"Guess you don't know who I ant, eh?" 
"Who might you be?" 
"The man who always arrives sometime. 
You just paddle along on your feet 
handles and I won't lose you. If you 
kick. I'll duck you in the first spring 

"Huh ! Never saw your name among 
those in the President's cabinet. Show 

"Will if you have your lamps open 
when we land. Just keep digging, 
that's all." 

The stride that fits Broadway must 
be made over for wood roads and it 
was no wonder that a dozen miles of 

A fixture about King and Barteett 
is George Day" 





new gait was beginning to make a 
little impression on muscles little used 
for ten months out of the year, espe- 
cially when hills and valleys alternated 
in quick succession, but they pushed 
on at fair speed. Occasionally when 
the grade was long, Clyde would give 
forth a yelp and declare that particular 
hill had no summit this side of the 
moon, and celebrate his error by droll 
remarks upon the beauty of the land- 
scape "nearer heaven than he ever ex- 
pected to be." 

The object of this trip through the 
Dead River region was to get a line 
upon the game resources of that section 
of Maine's happy hunting grounds and 
bring back pictures to provide illustra- 
tions for outing articles to appear in 

The; New England. No idea of kill- 
ing was entertained, for long experience 
had demonstrated the far greater 
pleasure of seeking close intimacy with 
the children of the wilds and repro- 
ducing them and their haunts for the 
enjoyment of those who are often 
denied the experience. 

By all odds the finest weapon for 
quick shooting is the snap-shot camera, 
unless it be the deft touch of pencil 
or brush under the hand of a nature 
lover. Yes, and the work is more last- 
ingly pleasing than that which lays 
game low at one's feet, lacking the 
graceful life that made it beautiful. 

Killing for the sake of killing — never. 

Taking from the store of good things 
in the woods what one needs for the 



support of life and health and when 
the meat is used, a trophy for den or 
dining-room — YES ; but in the great ma- 
jority of cases, bring back one of God's 
best gifts, a beautiful picture, which 
you may be able to share with your 
friends as the result of confronting bits 
of paradise with pencil and pad or a 
sensitive plate or film. You have done 
no violence. You are the woild's bene- 

Keeping then the real object of the ex- 
pedition constantly in mind, our friends 
were ever on the alert with cameras in 
hand, noting numberless signs and hop- 
ing to catch deer unawares, in which 
they succeeded in four instances, mak- 
ing exposures which, unfortunately, 
were a trifle undertimed on account of 
adverse conditions under the trees and 
increasing cloudiness. The climax 
came in a steady downpour of rain 
which lasted until away into the even- 
ing after arrival in camp. 

Watching carefully for the Little 
King trail, they soon came upon a note 
set in the crotch of a stick in the middle 
of the path : "No boat at this end of the 
lake, keep on along the road," c.nd with 
hearty appreciation of the driver's 
thoughtfulness, it was not long before 
they reached one of the most complete 
outing establishments in the entire 
north country and were snugly quar- 
tered in a log cabin, not the least 
important provision for comfort in 
which was a cheerful open fire, before 
whose ruddy warmth wet clothing was 
soon dried. 

Let the storm rage, for does not the 
patter on the roof make merry music? 
What more conducive to contentment 
than the sense of rest well earned 
within a perfect shelter? What more 
soothing than this complete surrender 
to sympathetic oneness with nature's 

With nothing lacking to promote 
perfect satisfaction in material things, 
and a sense of fullness beneath the belt 
line that at first seemed superlative in 
degree as the result of tarrying too long 
at dinner, the evening swept along to 
bedtime with a running accompaniment 
of stories, songs and jests, that aided 

digestion by provocation to incessant 

"Before we hit the hay, Hairy, tell 
me, have you heard from 'But,' he of 
the artistic touch, keen good humor 
and all-round good comradeship that 
makes his presence more +han wel- 

"Not for three days since he left 
Beantown, on his way east. I'm ex- 
pecting him every minute." 

"And here he is." Into the charmed 
circle stalked a tall chap, dressed in 
woolens and black slouch hac, water- 
soaked and lame from riding horseback 
from Eustis. "By the ringtailed bob- 
cat that stole my best girl's small 
brother, don't let me hear anyone sug- 
gest any other way of coming in than 
on my tootsey wootsies next time. 
Bless that horse, he went down on all 
his fore legs when we crossed the 
Spencer and I took a header into the 
drink. Got up again and went down 
again — me on again, off again and al- 
most gone again, before he quit the 
overhand racing stroke. He's a mud 
turtle, that animal. Ain't I a washed 
drawing? See my finger pointing sky- 
ward? NEVER AGAIN!" 

When laughter subsided and the 
newcomer went out for a "spasm of 
eats," Clyde turned to Jack with ques- 
tions regarding the outfit of easels, pal- 
etts, paints, etc., he expected to see pro- 
duced. "If he's going to sketch good 
things on this trip, his paraphernalia 
must have been snipped in ahead, for 
he came empty handed to-night. I'm 
anxious to see some of his work since 
you say he's so good. When will he 
be ready to move?" 

"Any minute. Metropolitan news 
work has taught him all that, and as 
for tools, a pencil or smut from a 
smudge kettle, with any old plain sur- 
face to draw upon is good enough for 
him. Why, I have seen him use fungus 
for a mixing board in lieu of a palette 
or a flat rock, and depend upon birch- 
bark for his canvas. You won't see 
him measuring proportions with a pen- 
cil gauge before his eye or fussing for 
a plumb bob. This man knows pro- 
portion and perspective, has a remark- 



able grasp of the essentials in artistic 
composition from the right viewpoint. 
There you are. That's 'But.' " 

"That listens good to me. Why 
don't you save your films for other uses 
and get this Hunter's Eldorado in 
black and white with his assistance?" 

"We'll try both and then choose, 
Bright Eyes. Now r beneath that can- 
opy for yours before he comes back or 
there'll be no sleep to-night. No birth- 
day parties the first evening in camp. 
Enough of those anon." 

A half hour later, "But" found all 
quiet in Camp Granite State, two fig- 
ures in bed and his own cot inviting 
him. For a moment he stood await- 
ing some salutation which presently 
came in the shape of a smothered snore, 
then turned in with a muttered, "Don't 
see anyone dispensing any oil of joy 
about here," and went off to sleep with- 
out further protest. Several times dur- 
ing strenuous dreams Jack heard him 
ejaculate, "Whoa, you mutt!" as he 
rode the trail once more. When jollied 
about his lameness next morning, he 
retorted: "No wonder — rode all day 
and all night." 

"Was that horse well broken to the 

"He might have been — I don't know, 
but I am positive / was broken on it. 
It seemed to me to have more bumps 
than a phrenologist's dummy I got 
rubbed hard on them all — that's a 
cinch. Don't talk about it — even 
thoughts on that subject hurt." 

A fixture about King and Bartlett, 
both summer and winter without whom 
the place could never seem quite the 
same, is George Day, than whose wis- 
dom regarding this locality., there is 
none better. One has not to resort 
to strategy to secure information from 
him, it is always the real thing and 
may be depended upon. What more 
natural than that he should be asked 
to designate some spot most likely to 
furnish good models for the pencil? 
He immediately replied: "Porcupine — 
in that cliff on King and Bartlett 
Mountain. See them plainly through 
glasses. Like maggots in cneese." 

Following this tip, after breakfast 

was dispatched, the trio climbed the | 
mountain to a position commanding a 
fine view of the face of the cliff which 
was about a hundred yards distant. As 
the warming rays of the sun penetrated 
the myriad holes that were there, the 
porcupine colony became very active, 
working in and out in all directions, 
until it required but a slight stretch 
of the imagination to transform the 
great mass into Day's cheese and the 
tenantry into maggots. The place was 
fairly alive with them and "But" 
sketched to his heart's content and 
to the infinite entertainment of the 
others as they saw his creations 
take on character and shape. Rough 
suggestions of background were filled 
in that night and really breathed of 
wild life, such a difficult, almost impos- 
sible, effect to produce when sketches 
are made in parks or zoos. 

To him who, in pure affection, steps 
within her portals and seeks to know 
her well, Dame Nature unbosoms her- 
self of her choicest treasures, gives 
them the right settings and properties 
and says to her admirer: "Do me jus- 
tice " With the spirit of the woods 
whispering in his ear and the added 
inspiration to be drawn from a never 
palling environment, could less be ex- 

Upon approaching camp at the close 
of the afternoon, shouts and sharp 
yelps greeted them, while from all 
directions people were seen running 
toward the woodshed, armed with 
every sort of weapon from paddles to 

"What's the fuse? Got a camp afire 
or has someone brought in a new 

"Hedgehog in the shed ! Hang onto 
those dogs ! The pesky critters never 
know enough to let one alone and 
when they have their own way get 
peppered with quills. Funny what 
fools some dogs are. Had a bull ter- 
rier once that got stuck all over with 
those things and I had to haul his head 
down to a heavy staple in the ground 
and pull them out with forceps. He 
would let go a little howl when I'd get 
hold of an extra long one and every 



time I pulled, the blood would follow 
the quill. Guess I extracted more than 
a hundred of those things and when I 
let Bill go, he just stood and looked at 
me with his tongue hanging out and 
his legs wobbling. 

"There, you bow-legged chump ! 
Reckon that'll be just about enough 
porcupine for you until long after 
cherries are ripe, eh? You got yours 
good and plenty — now don't be a hog; 
know when you have a feast and call 
it off," was my parting shot at him, as 
he staggered back from a pail of cold 
water in the face and slunk under the 
bam floor. Would you believ ; it? — not 
three weeks went by before he tackled 
another, filled his face with the darts, 
some of which pierced his eyes and I 
shot him. Dogs have no sense with 
these bristling chaps. Even Irish must 
be kept away." 

By this time the fierce-looking visi- 
tor was cornered and a love pat across 
the nose cut short his visions of fame 
among porcupines should he escape to 
tell the tale of his battle with humans. 
He was taken into the woods, buried in 
a deep hole and rocks were thrown on 
top of him to prevent the dogs from 
digging him up, for his power to make 
things unpleasant for them remains 
with him, even in death. That particu- 
lar specimen gave "But" a fine oppor- 
tunity to study anatomical detail, and 
he took advantage of it. 

"Taint often you are specially 
favored as I am. Rubbered them for a 
sketch all afternoon and now one 
throws out his chest and comes into 
camp to talk it over. It's a great 
country with polite hedgehogs in it." 

That evening at a "birthday party," 
to which all men were invited, stories 
of all varieties pertaining to wood life 
were in order and the hours passed 
rapidly. Maurice, over in the corner 
near Fred Allen and a big Elk from 
Livermore, was finally importuned for 
a bear story, but showing unwillingness 
to contribute his experience, the camp 
proprietor did it for him. 

"One day last summer, Maurice 
started away for the spring up there on 
the summit, swinging from a beam 

across his shoulders two empty pails. 
At the top of the hill he started to fill 
them, when, to his surprise, he heard : 
'Woof,' from behind some bushes 
nearby. No 'woofing' should drive 
him from his work and he took a step 
in the direction of the sound, but 
brought up suddenly as he heard vig- 
orous scratchings beyond a big spruce 
and another emphatic 'Woof. : 

"Bear! shot through his mind, and, 
with one wild glance over his shoulder, 
he leaped to the road and charged into 
camp. George and I were patching a 
canoe when he tore along the trail, 
gasping for breath. 

"Seen a ghost? What's biting you?" 

"'Bear! Holy Smoke? — weighed 
four hundred pounds sure. Up there 
by spring — nearly got me — heard him 
grab at a tree and tear the bark all off 
just as I got away.' 

"A bear as near as that in broad day- 
light — did you see him? 

" 'Did I see him — sure — no, I guess 
I didn't, but he was a buster from his 

" 'Come on, Irish,' called Harry, and 
followed by his dog and all the men 
of the camp, he struck the uptrail. 
There at the spring was a puddle nine 
feet across and in the centre of it 
floated Maurice's hat. In a frenzied 
leap from the farther side he had 
cleared the water and shed his head til- 
ing in mid-air — guess that's going a 
few! I could find no trace of bear 
tracks, neither could Irish, so I smelled 
a large-sized polecat somewhere in the 
thrilling tale. Sure enough, one of my 
guides came along just then and stand- 
ing close beside Maurice, 'wonfed' sud- 
denly. The fugitive went right into the 
air and George grabbed him to hold 
him on earth and prevent a stampede, 
while we roared in unison at his 
panic. With a gasp of relief Maurice 
made a lunge at the guide and yelled: 
'If you're the bear, I'll be a bear killer 
right now in dead earnest if you'll tell 
me what music to have for your fun- 
eral. This game cost me a year's 

" 'Well, you'll know what to expect 
of yourself if you're ever up against the 





"They started For the Earther side 
swimming side by side" 

real thing and that's something. It 
ain't a bad idea to remember that 
everything in the woods will run from 
you if you let it alone, unless it's a she 
bear with cubs and even then she's not 
looking for trouble/ said Jack." 

"Talking about bears, I got a little 
start myself last fall," remarked 
George. "I was on a buckboard down 
near the Kibby, along in the edge of 
the evening, and two other fellows with 
me, when the horses acted restless and, 
looking ahead, I saw what I took to be 
a man walking in the road. He looked 
big to me, though at dusk one's eyes 
are not to be trusted, still I was a little 
leary when I heard the clank of a 
chain as he turned off into the woods. 

"It was a big bear with a trap fast- 
ened upon his left forepaw and as his 
trail snowed next morning, he had 
come along alternately dragging the 
clog, which had been broken off at one 
end, and holding it off the ground with 
his other forearm. He had swung that 
thing against trees, stopped and torn at 
them in his rage until he had scarred 
numerous trunks along the way, mute 
evidences of his might when fierce with 
pain. It was a small job to run him 
down and hand him his finish in a 
dense growth of young spruces." 

"Say, if you lads want some good 
stuff for pictures, I'd advise you to hot 
foot for the Kibby, since George has 

spoken of it. Beaver and deer are 
about as thick as mud and you can't 
lose. There's a good camp right there 
and trout fishing galore. I'll take time 
off and go along if you say the word." 

"Surest thing you know, Harry. We 
won't say — we'll yell. Will you make 
it to-morrow?" 

"As well then as any time for me. 
You need some strong arm chap to 
carry the truck. Suppose we whip the 
stream from a canoe and keep quiet 
while we do it. I'll lay my head you'll 
see some pretty sights before night and, 
perhaps, after supper as well." 

"Us to the lily whites then, for I 
know your early starts. Hate to ap- 
pear inhospitable to this bunch, but 
I'm about to wind up the clock, turn 
out the cat and forget this world. 
Good-night, old scouts. Come to my 
birthday to-morrow evening." 

"How many of those do you have 
on this trip? That makes four since 
we left Ed. Grose's hotel at Stratton. 
You're living too fast for me, Hank. 
Get on a freight train for awhile." 

"Children don't count, Clyde. You're 
mussed up too easy for your own com- 
fort. Sand the rail, you're slipping, 
you're slipping." 

Along the Kibby there is a diversity 
of scenery that keeps one continually 
on the qui vive at the prospect of wit- 
nessing forest drama or comedy at 
every turn of the winding waterway. 
Here the shore slopes gradually to the 
stream from light growth of popple 
and birch, there it breaks suddenly into 
high-banked margins, heavily over- 
grown with evergreen spruce or hem- 
lock. Skirting a bit of country of 
bolder character, Harry's sharp eye, 
attuned to the harmony of woodsy 
shades, detected the light brown of a 
doe's body against low waterside 
bushes as he peered through under- 
growth and silently motioned for cau- 
tion. Stepping to his side, "But" gave 
expression to a chuckle and smile of 
appreciation. Standing well into the 
deeper water, so that the flow barely 
cleared her belly, the mother deer 
posed quietly, watching, with apparent 
amusement, the eager attempts of a 



young fawn to secure its supper. 
Nothing noting of the advent of inter- 
ested parties, it was an easy matter to 
approach within sixty yards as our 
friends were down the wind from the 
game and their sensitive noses caught 
no warning scent. 

After "But" had roughly sketched 
suggestions for the finished picture, 
two snapshots were taken, one as the 
animals stood at ease and the other 
when a startled doe left her fawn for 
the forest depths at a conspicuous wave 
of Jack's hand. The little one saw 
nothing and remained in the water, 
looking about and bleating for its 
mother, who was now invisible. 

"Walk up this road a little way and 
go quietly. The doe will circle and 
return to this spot as sure as we are 
three men and a boy. Steady, Irish, 
where are you, you beggar?" 

Just at their feet was a hollow log 
and as Harry gazed about for his 
terrier, a yellow nose pushed out from 
the other end toward the road and 
remained rigid with eyes glaring 
straight ahead. The object of his gaze 
became theirs, the doe returned and 
stared at her child in the stream. A 
quick glance about and failing to 
discover the causes of her previous 
alarm, she stepped softly down the 
bank, swam over to the fawn and 
together they started for the farther 
shore, swimming side by side. "But" 
sketched rapidly, the cameras got in 
their work and spattering muddy water 
in all directions, the pair of beauties 
legged it away through the woods. 

"Fish for supper, eh? Clyde, get busy 
and we'll soon have a fire going in the 
cabin. There's one of the best places 
on the stream where the water breaks 
at the foot of the swift current It's up 
to Jack to use that new axe on some 
firewood and when you return with the 
finnies, 'But' will clean them for you. 
He likes the job." 

"Dying for it and in it, that's a pipe. 
Don't catch onto a whale and fall in 
the drink, though. J have no use for 
water after my trip on the broncho." 

Twenty minutes later he was down 
oil his knees on a big rock in the 

stream, cleaning a dozen trout Clyde had 
placed his trade-mark on. Harry watched 
his chance when "But" was rot look- 
ing his way and threw a rock into the 
water near him. Starting suddenly to 
look for his disturber, "But' dropped 
one of the slippery trout, reached over 
for it quickly, lost his balance and fell 
full length into the drink, where he 
floundered, spitting his mouth clear of 
vhe Kibby and vowing vengeance upon 
the perpetrator of the crime. 

"You grinning hyenas look just 
alike to me and while I have my sus- 
picions who did that, I don't suppose 
he'll own up. Nix with that camera, 
Jack ! You don't illustrate any of your 
jokes at my expense," but he was too 
late and his picture, all dripping from 
the stream, will help make him famous 
some day. 

"Guess you'll discover you're in a 
prohibition state, where everyone has 
to learn to drink rain watet, 'But.' 
You'll rust your iron constitution if 
you take too much both outside and in, 
though," chuckled the Brooklynite. 

"Never mind the dousing — I didn't 
get it. There's a subject for you, 
'But,' that will make you forget the 

Perhaps a couple of hundred yards 
north of the Kibby some very respect- 
able hills, showing bare ledges on the 
side next the water, formed a grand 
background for an interesting near- 
tragedy. Slinking along the edge of 
the ravine, a red fox could be seen 
approaching the resting place of a 
brace of grouse who seemed all un- 
mindful of his threatening tactics. 
"But" put the field-glasses on him and 
watched eagerly for detail, while the 
general outline could be plainly seen 
by his companions. 

That supper in prospective looked 
mighty good to Brother Reynold and 
one could almost see his mouth water 
as he gradually drew near and set him- 
self for a rush. A long, graceful bound 
to the very edge of the cliff, but just 
a trifle too late, and all joined in a 
laugh at the manifest discomfiture of 
the hunter as he sat back on his 
haunches and gazed, longingly, at the 




birds, booming their way down the 
valley with not so much as the loss of 
a feather. If ever there was a heart- 
broken fox, he was it. 

"Looks like a big night to me. We 
have illustrations enough now to satis- 
fy a man for a month's travel, let alone 
four days. Did you say supper. Harry? 
I'm just a little hard of hearing when 
a man mentions grub. How in the 
dickens did you cook those fish without 
a frying pan? Boiled them? W^ho ever 
heard of that way of dishing them up 
and what do you eat on them?" 

"Lots of butter. Boiling them saves 
washing dishes and I do despise grease. 
They're not so bad. Do I beat my 
wife's cooking?" 

'Not you, sweetheart. Mrs. Pierce 
has a way of splitting them open and 
frying them flat that beats the world. 
Never ate such cooking as hers, in the 
woods or out. If you could find grid- 
lie marks on them, you'd swear they 
vere broiled. That comes of having 

red hot spider before she puts the 
ish in at all; eh, Harry?" 

"Camp secrets — can't tell." 

No one owned a better moonlight 

night over any property in New Eng- 
land than the one upon which they 
gazed after supper and that is equiva- 
lent to saying there is none better in 
the world, for no territory can success- 
fully dispute New England's claim to 
the best of everything if they have 
tested the question. The evening was 
one of those perfectly quiet ones when 
every little sound is magnified many 
times and seems very near when, in 
really, it is quite a distance away. 

Sitting on the back porch of the 
cabin with pipes alight, no one spoke 
for several minutes, the sense of per- 
fect peace blotting out all small talk. 
Away in the distance a wise old owl 
hooted, and immediately subsided as 
though ashamed of his silence-break- 
ing. A gentle splash in the stream told 
the tragic tale of a cannibal trout and 
a murdered fly. A soft rustling in the 
low growth suggested some prowling 
child of the forest taking a quiet peek 
at those silent figures with the visible 

"Gee, that must have been a big 
fish," ejaculated "But." "I'd like to 
get him on the end of a silken line." 



"You'd have a picnic, you would. 
That's no fish, but beaver at work 
under that bank and there's their 
house, see it — that mass of sticks close 
in shore — looks like a bunch of wreck- 

"Me for a try at a sketch of those 
workmen," and crawling on all fours 
to the edge of the bank, the artist 
slowly craned his neck at the busy 
family scene beneath him. Plainly 
visible in the moonlight, he was blessed 
with the unusual privilege of seeing the 
operations of three beaver, one large 
male, a female and a young one. The 
father was busily cutting away at a 
popple log on the beach, the mother 
worked on top of the house and the 
youngster was gamboling about in 
shallow water, occasionally diving 
into deeper places for the swim home 
again. Three beautiful specimens with 
those ridiculous tails. The frontis- 
piece of this issue is a faithful repro- 
duction of a very beautiful scene. 

Two days at Kibby Pond Camps, 
located on a high ridge between the 
stream and lake, under the protection 
of the mountain of like name, were 
productive of many fine sketches and 
snapshots of deer, which became so 
common that Clyde was led to remark: 
"It looks too easy to get game. I've 
had chances to shoot a dozen deer 
within two days. What'13 happen 
when the sportsmen get here in Octo- 

"At the first crack of a hostile rifle, 
in open season, the denizens of the 
woods know it and when you see them 
at all they are likely to be on the 
jump. Deer know as well as you do 
when men are out for a killing with 
the sanction of the law, and realize 
they must use nature's weapons in 
their own defense. Call it what you 
will, there is some subtle force in the 
killing fever that communicates a 
warning to game. 

"How often I have seen ducks peace- 
fully feeding until a hawk sailed into 
view across the horizon. They lifted 
their heads, gazed long at him, rose 
rapidly and scurried down the wind at 
sixty miles an hour. 

"Another day and they feed without 
anxiety when a hawk appears after 
raking hhat one long look. What's the 
secret? The first hawk was hungry 
and hunting a breakfast. They knew 
it by instinct. The second was not 
hunting food and they knew that. 
How? You tell. Many a good man 
will go home skunked this Fall, when 
we know the country is full of game 
by the evidence of our own eyes." 

Three days after the return to King 
and Bartlett, but one day remained of 
the time allotted to this work and plans 
were laid to cross the four mile trail 
to Big Spencer Lake for a day's try 
at togue, where the big fellows run 
to a weight of nearly twenty pounds. 
Passing Beck Pond, five deer were 
seen at once in the neighborhood of 
the trailside spring and two attempts 
to get them on the run proved abor- 
tive. Sport at the lake was entirely 
satisfactory, but no large game was 
in sight except at a long distance from 
the camp, where two deer swam the 

Toward evening, Maurice produced ' 
a mysterious bundle from his pack and 
put together a big jack lamp that when 
lighted threw a strong and steady 
beam fifty feet across the trail to the 
canoes. Busy with a three-handed 
game of cribbage, no one noticed his 
movements until he asked : "Want to 
come for a sneak act on the lake?" 

"To the end of the world and be- 
yond me, bucko, if I could see my 
hand before me," answered "But." 

"Something doing in the amen cor- 
ner," remarked Jack, as he caught a 
flash of light from the lamp. "Here's 
the chance of your life to see some 
royal sport. Not a firearm with us, not 
even a knife, but if this sketchist will 
follow the leading canoe I'll promise 
him some impressions worth putting 
on paper. Jacking deer at evening is 
fine fun, as they come down to drink 
and they will gaze at the new brand 
of lightning when the light is in their 
eyes, wondering why it does not flash 
and go out. In you go and we'll keep 
close to shore with not even a whis- 
per from any of us. Sneak your pad- 



die back on the recover stroke. Clyde, 
and let Maurice handle the lamp. I'll 
take 'But' in my canoe and keep him 
just astern of you." 

For a half-hour they drifted along 
like ghosts, Maurice bending low in the 
bow, carefully shrouding the light and 
listening intently for the slightest 
sound. This side of the cove at the 
nanows he opened the jack on a young 
buck, who caught a glimpse of his 
arm as he did so and fled among the 

An hour passed and Jack whispered : 
"Nothing doing to-night," when a 
warning gesture from Maurice caused 
him to catch his breath sharply and 
strain his eyes upon a big black ob- 
ject in the water just ahead and a little 
out toward the depths. 

Like painted craft the canoes lay 
motionless until Maurice was certain 
he naa the range, when he opened the 
jack full upon a remarkable picture. 
There stood a bull moose with antlers 
in the velvet, quietly pulling at lily- 
pads all about him. A surprised grunt 
and the giant sagged shoreward, 
changed his mind when he found the 
light staring him in the face and turned 
toward the point. When he saw that 
he had an unobstructed path to the 
woods, he deliberately wheeled half 
about and stood looking over his 
shoulder at the jack. 

"This is near enough for me, thank 
you — that beast might be an ugly cus- 
tomer if he didn't like our looks, but is 
worth coming a thousand miles to see." 

"Right, Clyde, and from here it looks 
better, for your canoe is in our line 
of vision as well as the glare of the 

lamp and the big fellow with blazing 
eyes. There goes the monarch, and if 
you can reproduce this picture as / 
see it, you're a wonder, 'But.' Get 
it for my den." 

"It's just as good as framed and 
hung there, old scout, my word for it. 
No man ever had a better chance to 
get every detail." 

A few days since the expjessman 
left a package at the door and the 
drawing from which the cut here 
shown was made is the fulfillment of 
the promise made on the jacklit bosom 
of Big Spencer, after midnight on that 
never-to-be-forgotten occasion. 

It was a glorious ending of a most 
successful trip through a delightful 
country and on the return to Stratton, 
where the Hotel Blanchard is the 
center of all things, a score of guides 
looked over these sketches and were 
unanimous in their expressions of ad- 
miration for the faithful portrayal of 
well-known conditions. A famous 
sportsman, who was deeply interested, 
remarked: "Who can father a doubt 
regarding the abundance of game in 
this sportsman's Eldorado? Fairly 
alive with splendid specimens, though 
a country may be, it is not by any 
means the rule that even tireless en- 
thusiasts can bring home the best of 
photographs as the result of instanta- 
neous snapshots. 

"But here is a country knowing no 
Umit in its delights for the hunter, 
giving an artist so much leeway in the 
duration of his period of sketching and 
observation, that you have grandly 
succeeded in bringing home, 'a hunt- 
er's El Dorado in black and white/ " 

Photograph by m. h. Pret 

The Connecticut State House ieeuminated by searchlights from the 


Civic Improvement 


MUNICIPAL and civic art is 
an exceedingly fertile field 
for discussion, and one in 
which the citizens of the leading 
cities of America are becoming in- 
creasingly interested. It would be ut- 
terly impossible to treat adequately of 
the subject in a magazine article, but 
a few bits of history and of prophecy 
may be noted concerning this work in 
Hartford. First should be mentioned 
some of the clubs and societies which 
have co-operated actively and success- 
fully in the promotion of municipal 
welfare along the lines of civic im- 
provement. These are arranged alpha- 
betically and the names of the various 
presidents and secretaries given for the 
convenience of any readers who may 
wish to glean further information con- 
cerning them. 

Art instruction in the public schools 
is carried on under several teachers, 
each school district, including also the 
Public High School, having its own 
art instructor. These are organized 
under a Board of Directors. 

The Art Society of Hartford was or- 
ganized June, 1877, and incorporated 
March, 1886, with rooms in the Wads- 
worth Athenaeum building. Courses are 
offered in drawing from life and from 
casts, oil painting, water colors and 
pastels; also advanced courses in illus- 
tration, pen and ink sketching, and 
modeling. There are Saturday classes 
for teachers and such scholars as are 
unable to be present at the regular 
classes. Four days a week a costumed 
model poses for the Sketch Class. 
Among its lecturers it can number such 

men as Joseph W. Champney, William 
N. Chase and Walter Griffin. This 
school has sent scholarship pupils to 
the Boston Art Museum, where they 
have again taken scholarships entitling 
them to a period of study abroad. The 
managers are raising a fund for build- 
ing and endowment, and they hope 
soon to be able to possess excellent 
studios where all the classes can meet. 
President, Mrs. C. C. Beach; Corres- 
ponding Secretary, Mrs. George G. 

The Arts and Crafts Club of Hart- 
ford was organized in January, 1903. 
This society has classes in metal work- 
ing and other arts-and-crafts work, and 
has given several very successful ex- 
hibitions. It has a shop and sales- 
room at 904 Main Street. President, 
Miss C. Louise Williams ; Secretary- 
Treasurer, Claudia E. Ebbets. 

The Camera Club of Hartford is 
probably the oldest club of its kind in 
the country, having been organized 
February 18, 1885, and incorporated in 
1892. Its membership is some 75 or 
80. Its aim is the promotion of the 
art of photography in general, as well 
as among its members. To this end oc- 
casional exhibits have been held, to show 
what work it has accomplished. It has 
co-operated effectively with other agen- 
cies in respect to the artistic side of 
civic development. President, Dr. 
Frederic S. Crossfield; Corresponding 
Secretary, Charles R. Nason. 

The Civic Club of Hartford, a 
women's organization, dates from Jan- 
uary 10, 1895. Its membership is 
limited to 150. Its chief aim is to help 

The writer wishes to thank Miss Hewins of the Hartford Public Library, and those officers and 
members of the various Clubs, who have so kindly assisted in the accumulation of statistics regarding them. 




Photograph by Eugene D. Field 

Winter, a Harteord camera club prize photograph 

the advancement of the city in moral 
and civic directions. Observing the 
plan in other cities, this Club conceived 
the idea of starting vacation schools 
here. It also established the public 
playgrounds and school gardens. While 
these were in the experimental stage, 
they were supported by this Club and 
by interested individuals, and when 
they had been proved a success the 
city took them over. The Club is 
divided into numerous sections, such as 
the sections in charge of streets, 

schools, art, health, police court, and 
so on, the chairmen of which are mem- 
bers of the board of directors. With 
the aid of other clubs and individuals, 
it has bought a number of photographs 
for circulation among the schools. One 
school exhibits them during the year 
and then sends them on to another. 
President, Mrs. Appleton R. Hillyer; 
Corresponding Secretary, Mrs. Charles 
T. Welles. 

The Connecticut Chapter of the 
American Institute of Architects, or- 



ganized October 23, 1902, has its head- 
quarters in Hartford. President, W. R. 
Briggs, of Bridgeport ; Secretary-Treas- 
urer, Charles O. Whitmore, of Hart- 

The Connecticut League of Art Stu- 
dents was founded in 1888 and incor- 
porated in 1895, with studios at 92 
Pearl Street. This League originated 
in Hartford as "Mr. Flagg's Night 
Class." It meets three evenings a 
week. Its success was marked from 
the beginning and was soon formally 
organized, its object being to give in- 
struction to men who, because of ex- 
pense or employment during the day, 
were unable to attend a regular art 
school. The League is self-supporting, 
no salaries being paid to instructors 
or officers, except that, if he desires, 
the treasurer's dues are remitted. The 
dues paid by the men are only such as 
are needed to defray necessary ex- 
penses. President, A. J. Eaton; Cor- 
responding Secretary, T. F. Brubacker; 

Instructors : Drawing and Painting, 
Charles Noel Flagg, Robert B. Brande- 
gee and James Britton; Perspective, 
Professor Frederic R. Honey, Ph.B., 
and 1. H. Grant; Anatomy, Dr. Joseph 
E. Root. 

The Hartford Art Club is a women's 
organization, consisting of about 25 
members, some of whom are artists. 
They meet for the study of the differ- 
ent European Schools of Art, and kin- 
dred topics. For the last three years 
they have been engaged with the 
Italian school, and this year are giving 
their attention to the Spanish. Presi- 
dent, Mrs. J. L. English; Secretary, 
Miss B. L. Franklin. 

The Municipal Art Society of Hart- 
ford was organized in 1904, its object 
being "to conserve and enhance in 
every practicable way the beauty of 
the streets, buildings, and public 
places of Hartford; to stimulate inter- 
est in the scenic, artistic and architec- 
tural development of the city; and to 

Photograph by Paul de Faf champs 

One o# Hartford's beautiEui< insurance buildings 



Photograph by Paul de Fafchainps 

Elizabeth Park. 

encourage a greater civic pride in the 
care and improvement of public and 
private property" (The Constitution of 
the Society, Bulletin No. i). 

It is governed by a board of direc- 
tors composed of eighteen members, 
elected at the annual meeting, and the 
Chairmen of the several standing com- 
mittees. President, John M. Hol- 
combe; Secretary-Treasurer, Henry 
Robinson Buck. 

The Wadsworth Athenaeum, while 
not a club, may well be mentioned 
here. This building, situated on Main 
Street, contains the rooms of the Con- 
necticut Historical Society and of the 
Art school ; and a Public Art Gallery 
which, having occupied its present lo- 
cation since 1842, is soon to be moved 
into the new Morgan Memorial build- 
ing, to be treated of'later in this article. 
The Athenaeum was begun in April, 
1842, and completed in July, 1844. A 
large brick addition was built in Janu- 
ary, 1893, to accommodate the Hart- 
ford Public Library on the first floor 
and the Watkinson Library on the 

second, and adjoined by the library of 
the Historical Society. The total cost 
of the Athenaeum buildings, including 
land and fence, was about $200,000; 

A proposal is under consideration for 
the federation of all these organizations 
above mentioned. This, if carried 
through, will prevent much working at 
cross purposes, and insure a greater 
unity of interest. Also, in the event of 
the accomplishment of this federation, 
a clubhouse will probably be bought, 
or built, which will adequately house 
these various societies. 

In Hartford there is, perhaps, as 
much natural beauty as in almost any 
other city of equal size. Foresighted 
persons have preserved many trees, 
even in the center of the city, and in 
places on the outskirts are thick woods, 
while all the residential streets are 
lined on both sides with trees. The 
ornamental and economical value of 
trees is, of course, a well-known fact. 
A stranger, introduced to Hartford for 
the first time and getting his first 
glimpse of it from the hills round about, 



Photograph by Paul de Faf champs 


would find it difficult to believe that a 
city of 100,000 inhabitants nestled 
there among the greenery. 

The Municipal Art Society, numbering 
now some five hundred members, and 
the other societies already mentioned, 
are working valiantly, each in its re- 
spective field, to augment these natural 
resources. To make a city beautiful, 
convenient and healthful — all these 
compose the duties of such societies, 
and to accomplish it in harmony with 
the city officials and with the least 
possible expense to the city should, of 
course, be their aim; and with these 
ends in view large work has been un- 
dertaken and some really striking re- 
sults have been obtained. 

One thing under consideration is the 
selection and adoption of a uniform 
street marker which shall be both use- 
ful and ornamental. The present sign 
is metal, enameled black, with alum- 
inum letters about three inches high. 
While neat in appearance when new, 
these rust quickly and are not easily 

readable from a distance , at night they 
are quite illegible unless a street lamp 
shines directly upon them. It was 
proposed to find some type of sign 
which should be more satisfactory in 
both the above-mentioned respects, and 
at the same time be artistic. To this 
end the Committee on Street Fixtures 
and Advertising Signs, of the Munici- 
pal Art Society, opened correspondence 
with the city engineers of other large 
cities, at home and abroad, to ascer- 
tain what had been done in this line 
elsewhere. The inquiries invariably re- 
ceived prompt and kind attention, and 
sample street name-plates were sup- 
plied, and even in one case the model 
of a sign-post. Having a collection of 
this kind at hand, it was exhibited and 
the case presented to the public in 
open meeting, and finally to the Street 
Board. As a result permission was ob- 
tained to erect six signs at such street 
intersections as the Committee should 
choose. The marker selected as be- 
ing in every way most suitable is of 



ultramarine enamel with three-inch 
white block letters. 

In this connection also arose the 
question of the naming of new streets. 
Until recently the property owner cut 
his street to suit himself and named 
it after a like manner. We are told 
that great minds run in the same chan- 
nel, and it often happened that two 
streets in very different sections of 
the city received names phonetically 
similar or differing in no way but in the 
"street," ''avenue" or "place" portion of 
the appellation. For instance, there is 
Allyn Street and Allen Place, the for- 
mer in the very center and the latter 
about twenty minutes by trolley out to 
the southwest; also Meadow Street 
(south) and Meadow Place (west), 
and, again, Park Street, Park Terrace 
and Park Avenue (south center, west 
and extreme northwest, respectively), 
besides numerous other instances. 

Now, under the amended charter, 
new streets are to be named in ac- 
cordance with a specific scheme, and 
their lay-out, etc., approved by the City 
Plans Commission before being adopted 
by the city, so much of this confusion 
will be avoided in the future. 

While street name-plates of suffi- 
cient prominence are at a premium, 
advertising signs in many cases run 
to the opposite extreme, particularly 
the electric ones. As everybody knows, 
no method of illumination and evening 
decoration offers more diverse oppor- 
tunities than electricity. But, like 
many other things of beauty, when 
turned to private ends it becomes a 
glaring nuisance. Competition enters 
in, and each sign-owner strives to out- 
shine his neighbor. And when flat 
signs, electric or painted, fail to attract 
attention, they are turned out end-wise, 
and there they hang, over the heads of 
the long-suffering populace, like the 
sword of Damocles about to descend. 
And, like the sword, they are apt to 
descend, with consequent loss of life 
or limb. The craze has spread from the 
saloons even up to one of the churches, 
though nothing more incongruous 
could be imagined than a church flying 
at its bow a blue and white electric- 

bordered "beer-sign"! But Hartford 
has a city ordinance which reads, in 
part, as follows: 

"The following acts are de- 
clared to be acts of nuisance: the 
placing of any business sign, with- 
in the limits of any street of the 
city, otherwise than parallel to and 
against or as near as is convenient 
to the face of the building, wall 
or fence whereunto the same shall 
be attached." 

The penalty for its violation is a fine of 
not less than $1.00 or more than $25.00. 
Prosecutions are being made on the 
basis of this law and results are being 
obtained, and there can be ultimately 
but one outcome. 

In line with this mode of advertise- 
ment may be mentioned the omni- 
present billboards. These have no re- 
spect for majesty of scenery or artistic 
beauty. Painted on rocky precipices in 
this country's greatest mountain sys- 
tem are to be seen advertisements of 
Carter's Little Liver Pills, Hood's 
Sarsaparilla, and kindred things. Pop- 
ular disgust at such displays is steadily 

In the country natural beauty is de- 
faced or quite hidden from view by 
huge signboards. It gives one a dis- 
tinct sense of physical shock to come 
suddenly upon one of these multi- 
colored monstrosities in the midst of an 
otherwise peaceful and quiet landscape. 
Hartford has many of these nuisances 
within the city limits, but in the near 
future they bid fair to be reduced to 
the minimum. 

On the main artery of traffic between 
the center and the fashionable residen- 
tial "Hill" section was a towering 
"double-decker" signboard, and by its 
side one of ordinary proportions. 
These were eyesores for years, and, at 
last, was organized the United Com- 
mittee for Bill Board Regulation, and 
it began to agitate the subject. In this 
case the owner showed himself very 
considerate, for without being ap- 
proached personally he had them re- 
moved when he learned the general 
drift of public opinion. 




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Photograph hy Paul de Faf champs . 


At the corner of Pearl and Ford 
streets, and overlooking beautiful Bush- 
nell Park, is a row of very unattractive 
low wooden shanties. These had, until 
very recently, a fringe of billboards 
along their base, and were crowned with 
another along the edge of the roofs. 
In response to public opinion the com- 
mittee has been able to persuade the 
owner of the buildings and the lessee of 
the advertising privilege to remove 
most of these billboards, and a serious 
eyesore has thus been largely elimin- 

On the roof of the building at "Ex- 
change Corner," in the very center of 
the' city, stood for a number of years 
a huge round sign, on which appeared 
the picture of a man, many times life 
size, mixing something in a glass, while 
large letters informed the shuddering 
watcher, "Highball. That's all." Most 
everyone thought it was quite enough, 
if not one too many. . And so after 
much agitation by individuals through 
the public press and by the Municipal 

Art Society, the lease was not renewed, 
and great was the public rejoicing. 

This illustrates the power of public 
opinion. A bill has recently been 
passed which will at least restrain the 
use of billboards within the city limits, 
and it would be a very welcome depar- 
ture, here and in other states, if the 
outlying districts also could be pro- 

Traffic in the city streets is becoming 
more and more congested as the city 
grows in size. It has been found nec- 
essary within two years to station 
policemen at five of the principal street 
intersections in order to protect pedes- 
trians while crossing, and also to en- 
force the rules of the road. The Mu- 
nicipal Art Society is agitating the 
question of locating isles of safety at 
such points. In order to arouse public 
interest in this subject, there has been 
held a competition, recently closed, — 
designs of isles of safety with electro- 
liers being submitted, for vote and 
adoption by the Society, and the sue- 



cessful design is "to be presented to 
the city with the recommendation that 
it be adopted and reproduced from time 
to time," as the need may arise. 

Hartford has a splendid park system, 
being- surrounded by a chain of eleven, 
ranging from 2,85 acres to 663 acres 
in extent. Keney Park, the gift of the 
late Henry Keney, situated at the north 
end and partly in the town of Wind- 
sor, is the second largest park in New 
England, only the Metropolitan Re- 
serve, near Boston, having the pre- 

Park, equipped with sand boxes, swings 
and other suitable apparatus. It is 
expected that this area will be doubled 
next season. 

Pope Park, in the west side factory 
district, has also a playground, and 
Goodwin Park at the Southwest a pub- 
lic golf course. The Board of School 
Visitors has the oversight of all these 

At Pope Park there is a gymnasium 
for children too old for sand boxes and 
swings. Day classes for the children 

Photograph by Paul <]c Faf champs. 


cedent. It is largely in a state of na- 
ture, and is famous for its beautiful 
wooded drives and expanse of meadow- 

Riverside Park, on the west bank of 
the Connecticut north of the bridge, 
was converted from waste meadow- 
land. Some eight years ago a play- 
ground was instituted here, which has 
proved of immense value to the con- 
gested East Side, which adjoins it. 

There is, also, a children's play- 
ground at the East end of Bushnell 

and evening classes for adults have 
alike proved very satisfactory. 

This last year the City appropriated 
$600 to pay the salaries of four physical 
instructors in as many parks, this to 
supplement the work of one such in- 
structor in one park, formerly sup- 
ported by private contribution. 

In Colt and Riverside Parks are 
school gardens, assiduously tended by 
the youngsters, under careful direction. 

The total number in attendance last 
season on all the above classes of out- 



Conditions with which civic improvement begins 

door work, including, also, the vacation 
schools which use the parks two ses- 
sions each week, was nearly 99,000. 

Located at Vine and Mather Streets 
at the North end, whither it moved 
this year from Riverside Park, is the 
Baby Hospital, presided over by trained 
nurses and under the supervision of a 
committee of physicians. This has 
proved a godsend to many wee citizens 
of the East Side, who, without the care- 
ful nursing and fresh air of this tented 
ward would have yielded up their lives 
in an unequal struggle. 

A municipal building which shall 
have ample office room is now a burn- 
ing question in Hartford. The his- 
toric City Hall has been outgrown. 
Four sites, favored by the majority of 
those interested as being the most 
suitable among a possible nineteen, are : 
first, at the corner of Pearl and Ford 
streets, where now stands the row of 
wooden buildings referred to in an 
earlier paragraph, and, second, on the 
south side of Asylum Hill, west of the 
railroad tracks. If placed on either 
spot, it would be easily accessible from 
all parts of the city and especially from 
the railway station. If the former site 
were chosen, located as it would be, 
across the street from the Y. M. C. A., 

it would also form a handsome addition 
to the Bushnell Park group of build- 
ings, to be discussed later. Third, on 
Main Street, south of the Morgan mem- 
orial, and, fourth, on the corner of 
Pearl and Trumbull streets, this latter 
site to occupy practically all the block 
between Trumbull and Lewis streets, 
with the exception of the land on which 
stands the National Fire Insurance 

In this connection has arisen the 
question as to whether this building 
shall be a permanent structure, or plan- 
ned only for a term of, say, twenty- 
five years. It would seem as though, 
in view of the necessarily large outlay 
of money, it would be more economical 
in the end to secure a site on which a 
building suitable to serve indefinitely 
might be erected. 

Much building naturally has been 
going on which has added to the artis- 
tic beauty of the city, in which the 
Municipal Art Society has not had a 
direct hand. 

The new bridge, costing about 
$1,600,000, and called The Hartford 
Bridge, is one of the largest stone 
bridges in the world, being 1192^ feet 
long, over all, and 80 feet wide, 60 
feet between curbs. 

WiotoKcipfi by E. M Astle 

'The home oe the thrush 


ment of 




A gumpse of Spot pond 

ELEVEN years ago Mr. William 
B. de Las Casas, the able chair- 
man of the Metropolitan Park 
Commission, wrote for The New Eng- 
land Magazine so entertaining and 
comprehensive an account of the Mid- 
dlesex Fells that any subsequent expo- 
sition, either of its charms or of the 
difficulties and prejudices amidst which 
it was created to be a breathing place 
for a community of more than a mil- 
lion people, is likely to involve repeti- 
tion and dilution. No one else, in all 
probability, has so sympathetically and 
so accurately described the delights 
that await the sojourner in a region of 
breezy uplands and glistening lakes, all 
within a ten-mile radius of the Golden 
Dome on Beacon Hill. Nowhere else 
have been brought together so many 
historical data concerning the Middle- 
sex Fells, beginning with the famous 
expedition of Governor John Win- 
throp in 1632 which gave a name to 
Cheese Rock and ending with the story 
of the earlier efforts of the newly ap- 
pointed Commission to accommodate 
to the needs of the populace using them 
the conditions in the woodland en- 
trusted to their control. 

There really remains only to add an 
occasional postscript to Mr. de Las 
Casas' monumental contribution, to the 
effect that some one of the important 
steps scheduled in the popularization 
of this beautiful area have been taken. 

And one of these forward steps was 
made in the summer just passing. 
Heretofore one of the limitations of 

the wooded park — a defect which 
some, selfishly inclined, might regard 
as a virtue — has been a certain inac- 
cessibility. For fifteen years or more 
the Fells have been there, unapproach- 
ably charming at all seasons of the 
year, their wind-swept crags blushing 
with the sumach and barberry or opa- 
lescent with the mantle of new fallen 
snow; their lakes gleaming like dia- 
monds in the sunlight or glowing like 
pearls under a cloudy sky. Yet to 
glimpse the beauties of the reservation 
it has heretofore been necessary either 
to have a special vehicle, in which to 
traverse the excellent roadways of the 
reservation or to walk for a consider- 
able distance from points well outside 
the Fells. The trolley service that 
has brought most of the parks of 
greater Boston within easy reach of the 
populated blocks has barely ap- 
proached this open area of three thou- 
sand acres. 

Even back in the days of the prelim- 
inary Metropolitan Park Commission, 
whose work, under the secretaryship 
of Mr. Sylvester Baxter, is gratefully 
remembered; it was intended that 
eventually a line of street cars should 
bisect the park, making the attractions 
of Spot Pond and its environing hills 
readily and inexpensively available to 
all the people who regard the dome of 
the Statehouse as the Hub of the Uni- 
verse. This original plan has at last 
been carried out, in part. On August 
15, 1909, the Boston Elevated Railway 
Company, which, about two years be- 




New concrete bridge on the Feees road 

fore, had received authorization to 
build into the Fells from Medford to 
Spot Pond, opened its line. The privi- 
lege of continuing the route to Stone- 
ham Square and thence of developing 
a much-needed short line to the cities 
of the Merrimac Valley rests with the 
Boston and Northern Company. Work 
on this latter extension is progressing 
rapidly at the present writing. 

The effects of the consequent demo- 
cratization of the great reservation of 
3000 acres will be interesting to watch. 
The Middlesex Fells, in the past ten 
years or more, have acquired a sort of 
body of titleless proprietors — urban- 
ites and suburbanites who, on every 
possible occasion, spend an hour or a 
half day or a day within its bounds. 

To this public-landed gentry the 
name of "Fells," first applied to the 
region by Mr. Baxter back in the sev- 
enties, is synonymous with quiet walks 
over well-graded roadways and by- 

paths on which there is less chance of 
meeting fellow sojourners than on most 
country roads of New England; with 
mildly adventurous scaling of rocky 
fastnesses that overhang quiet lakes; 
with study of the outlines of distant 
mountain ranges from the tops of the 
Bear Hill and Lawrence observatories; 
with hunting wild fowl and small ani- 
mals with the harmless camera. Al- 
though fishing and swimming in the 
reservoirs is necessarily forbidden, as 
is the despoilment of the vegetation, 
there are pleasing occupations enough 
for all the outdoor enthusiasts. 

Particularly in the winter months 
the Fells give the Bostonian a keen 
foretaste of the pleasures he may en- 
joy if, as a member of the Appalachian 
Club, he makes one of those fascinating 
jaunts on snow shoes across the bare 
ridges of the White Mountains. The 
lure of the white mantled hills has long 
been felt in the dull grey city. The 



sale of snow shoes and skis in the cold 
winters of 1903-4 and 1904-5 was re- 
markably brisk; a large proportion of 
them must have been used in the Mid- 
dlesex Fells, where wobbly trails ex- 
tended through every glade. The sub- 
sequent seasons have been a little dis- 
appointing, on account of the failure of 
Boreas to assist. Only another old- 
fashioned winter, however, is needed to 
double the number of groups of ruddy- 
cheeked young men and maidens strid- 
ing among pines and oaks with the 
walk taught by Indian guides. It will 
also bring out again the cohorts of 
adventurous boys and girls on the 
Norsemen's locomotives, skimming 
down rocky hillsides, leaping across 
ravines and coasting far out upon the 
surface of the snow-covered lakes. 
This is a pasture for the young and 
lithe. Elderly gentlemen and stout 
ladies of the modern Athens sometimes 

provide themselves with skis and essay 
ski-running in the Fells; for such folk 
it is better to cling to the valleys and 
to take no slope that drops more than 
five feet in a hundred. Those, too, who 
before or after trial find that skis are 
absolutely unsafe, discover solace in 
days of early and late winter when the 
ice on the lakes of the Fells is in per- 
fect condition and skating is allowed. 

For these and other sports the big 
reservation to the north of Boston is 
nearly ideal. Geologically it is the 
most primitive of the forested parks of 
the metropolitan district — a region of 
roots of ancient mountains, worn off 
by the grind of the glaciers and weath- 
ered into greyness by the storms of a 
thousand centuries. It displays for the 
naturalist some of the flora and fauna 
of the uplands of northern New Eng- 
land. The reserved mountain chain 
to the south of Boston, the Blue Hill 

Rounding the curve in the Feu,s 



region, is more characteristically Ap- 
palachian — as opposed to Laurentian — 
with its mantle of trees akin to those of 
the mountains of northern New Jersey 
of Pennsylvania. Pre-eminently in the 
Fells are summits that remind the ob- 
server of the New Hampshire and 
Maine mountaintops above the timber 
line. So that to all these hills, "Bos- 
ton's miniature White Mountains" is 
not altogether far fetched. If the 
beautiful hill country of the Switzer- 
land of America has its Old Man of 
the Mountains, so has the metropolitan 
reserve its Old Lady of the Woods, 
with likeness rudely sculptured by 
snow and wind from a granite 
boulder. The three Winchester reser- 
voirs and Spot Pond are like so many 
lakes of central New Hampshire. The 
mountain climbing in the Fells is, of 
course, less arduous than that of Mt. 
Washington ; but the prospects are 
hardly less pleasing — as may be proved 
by the ascent, on any fine day, of Pine 
Hill, 240 feet; Cairn Hill, 300 feet, or 
Bear Hill, 320 feet. With a little help 
from a topographical map a fine cir- 
cuit can be made out. "By taking half 
a dozen of these tiny peaks in an after- 
noon," observes an enthusiastic climber, 
"I get the same exercise and the same 
exhiliration as from mounting Monad- 
nock or Greylock. Mountaineering in 
Boston's back yard is better than a 
passable substitute; it comes very near 
being the real thing." 

Improvement of the appearance of 
this magnificent park of all the people 
has progressed from year to year since 
Mr. de Las Casas described some of 
the opposition which the Park Commis- 
sion, in the late nineties, was encounter- 
ing in its schemes. Purchases of pri- 
vate property along the Winchester 
side and elsewhere have somewhat en- 
larged the area. A new and handsome 
administration building has been 
opened in the southern part of the res- 
ervation. Carriage roads have been ex- 
tended to pass through beautiful and 
hitherto inaccessible tracts. Concrete 
bridges have been thrown across 
ravines, and concrete seats disposed 
in shady nooks. An unsafe observa- 

tory has been removed ; the approaches 
to those that are safe have been made 

Above all, the principles of scientific 
forestry are being applied. When the 
reservation was first set off one of its 
manifest limitations was the insignifi- 
cant, not to say scrubby quality of the 
wood. There were a few handsome 
pines and hemlocks, as in the cele- 
brated Virginia woods on the Melrose 
side; but for nearly three hundred 
years, "The Rocks," as the district was 
anciently known, had been chopped 
over and burned over until sugges- 
tions of the glory of the primaeval for- 
est were found only in a few isolated 
spots. Coppice growth — that is of 
trees which shoot up from the stumps 
of felled trees — is, by nature, degener- 
ate as compared with the trees that 
come up from seed. Most of the stand 
in the Fells, was, and still is, coppice. 
It was also found to be overcrowded — 
confused tangle of small oak and birch, 
amidst which individual trees could 
not reach their proper maturity. The 
Fells, furthermore, are in the very 
heart and centre of the moth-infested 
region. Their wooded valleys were 
hence a source of corruption to the 
whole neighborhood. 

To save and better the condition of 
the forest a great deal of cutting was 
done a few years ago — in face of con- 
siderable popular clamor. Residents 
of the suburban towns complained of 
the resultant rawness. Even yet the 
openness of the woods is in some places 
a little apparent, and on a warm day, 
not altogether agreeable. 

But the steady progress of the trees 
that were left toward nobler dimen- 
sions than are usual in an old woodlot 
is already demonstrating the wisdom of - 
the excisions. There has been a per- 
ceptible deepening of the shade in five 
years, and the underbrush no longer 
shuts out what breeze there is. In 
the valleys and on the hillsides it is 
already possible to discern the begin- 
nings of a real forest which, without 
imitating the European public forests, 
will have something of their impres- 
siveness. The Park Commission found 



thickets of scrub oak; they will leave 
groves of stately pine and hardwood. 
Further steps in the opening of the 
Fells to the whole New England public 
are easily foreseen. Within a short 
time the second section of the route 
between Medford and Stoneham will 
have been finished, and the great host 
of New England trolley trippers will 
have a new approach to the Hub. The 
Fells will then have become a distant 

bears' dens. The lowland slopes are 
precisely fitted for deer ranges. Ponds 
for aquatic animals and fowl can read- 
ily be created. A papier mache model 
of a zoo with distinctive features has 
already been prepared. The plan only 
awaits a time suitable for its financing. 
As compared with either the Bronx 
Park, in New York, or the grounds of 
the National Zoo, at Washington, the 
Boston collections would be very favor- 

Photcgraph by E. M. A 

An old lady, Middlesex Fells 

city park of Lowell, Lawrence, An- 
dover and Nashua. 

Eventually will come the realization 
of the long delayed project for zoologi- 
cal gardens worthy of the name which 
Boston has among the cities of the 
United States. An admirable site on 
the southern exposure of the Fells has 
been selected by the Massachusetts 
Zoological Society as appropriate to 
its scheme. There is abundance of 
never failing water — a very important 
consideration. Old quarries on the 
hillsides invite the construction of 

ably situated. They would never suffer 
for want of popular appreciation. The 
longing that the city at the head of 
Massachusetts Bay has for animals was 
shown shortly after there was started, 
some years ago at the reservation head- 
quarters in the Fells, a little nucleus 
of a zoo. In comparison with the big 
animal gardens of other cities it was, 
of course, a meagre though interesting 
collection, gathered at the personal ex- 
pense of the superintendent and con- 
sisting of a few native animals and 












New Bedford 

The wonderful growth of a Massachusetts cotto?i manufacturing city zvhich has 

acquired the leading habit. 


NEW BEDFORD has acquired 
the leading habit. 
The time was, and not so 
very long ago, when every encyclo- 
pedia and every geography used in the 
public schools referred to New Bedford 
as, "The Whaling City," and empha- 
sized the fact that while New Bedford 
was somewhat interested in the manu- 
facture of fine cotton goods, it led the 
world in the 
whaling industry. 
While it is true 
that New Bed- 
ford still leads 
the world in 
point of whaling 
tonnage locally 
owned, the New 
Bedford man of 
the present gen- 
eration chooses 
to forget it, and 
when anybody 
asks him what 
claim New Bed- 
ford has to dis- 
tinguish it from 
other cities, he 
proudly says that 

New Bedford leads the country in 
the manufacture of fine cotton goods. 
When he adds that New Bedford 
makes, of fine cotton cloth, a mile 
a minute, the listener commences 
to wonder, and to figure the miles on 
miles of yarn which must be spun to 
give New Bedford such a reputation. 
As a matter of fact, New Bedford 
makes a mile and an eighth of cotton 

The New Bedford water works 
pumping station 

cloth every minute of the working day, 
A few years ago the calamity howlers 
who delight to portray the decadence 
of New England, — and, thank good- 
ness, they are growing beautifully less 
as the years go on, — declared that 
the lapse of but a few years would see 
New Bedford's cotton manufacturing 
industry transplanted to the Sunny 
South, near the source of supply 
of the raw ma- 
terials, cotton 
and coal, follow- 
ing the pathway 
of the departed 
iron industry 
which once flour- 
ished in this sec- 

New Bedford 
mill men heard x 
the prediction ^m 
and inwardly 
smiled. Instead 
of throwing their 
cotton mill 
stocks upon the 
market before 
the crash came, 
they watched 
and waited. And while they were 
waiting, they bought new machinery 
and built new mills. They are buy- 
ing new machinery and building new 
mills to-day. While the South is 
undoubtedly a factor in cotton manu- 
facture, New Bedford, with a conser- 
vatism which is proverbial, continues 
on its way, making, each day, more and 
more of the finest cotton cloth woven 




New Bedford From Franklin bridge 

in this country, and fearing little in 
the line of Southern competition. 

There is a reason for New Bedford's 
supremacy in the manufacture of fine 
cotton goods ; indeed, there are several 
reasons. In the first place, the climatic 
conditions are favorable. The mois- 
ture which the combination of sun and 
sea produces, on this favored arm of 
Buzzards Bay, creates a condition of 
humidity which makes possible the 
spinning of the finest cotton yarns 
at the least expense. Then, again, the 
pioneers of New Bedford's cotton mill 
business determined upon the manu- 
facture of the finest quality of cotton 

goods. While other cotton manufac- 
turers put their money into print cloth 
mills, looking for the profits which fol- 
lowed along that line, New Bedford's 
capitalists maintained a steady course, 
turning out fine fabrics. In the his- 
tory of the New Bedford cotton mills, 
but one mill out of the many now in 
existence was built for the particular 
purpose of making print cloths, and 
that mill, to-day, is transformed into 
a fine-goods mill. The wisdom of the 
pioneers of New Bedford's cotton mill 
is proven. The fine work, at the start, 
attracted an intelligent class of oper- 
atives, and the skill of the New Bed- 

north mills from bridge 



ford mill help to-day is not surpassed, 
if it is equalled, in any cotton manu- 
facturing city in the world. 

New Bedford was once famous as 
the wealthiest city in the Union, per 
capita. The people of New Bedford, 
to-day, are worth $125,000,000. There 
is not a state or territory in the United 
States, including Alaska, in which New 
Bedford capital is not invested. 

New Bedford's natural advantages, 

trance to the largest coastwise vessels. 
The port is located to the south of 
Cape Cod, with its dangerous shoals 
of shifting sand. Because of its easy 
access and geographical situation, it 
is the natural gateway through which 
may pass the Southern commodities, 
such as coal and cotton, which all New 
England must have. New Bedford 
will reap advantage from the future 
traffic through the Cape Cod canal, the 

;-•'•>>,:;. V;„. 


State armory, New Bedford 

and the attractions which the city 
offers to investors, as well as to home 
seekers, are many. Built on an arm 
of Buzzards Bay, a magnificent 
waterway, with a long line of water 
front which is capable of unlimited 
development, New Bedford offers dock- 
age facilities available for great trans- 
portation utility. The harbor and 
channel are dredged to a depth of 
twenty-five feet, affording a safe en- 

dredging of which is now actually be- 
gun, inasmuch as it is the nearest port 
of supply to the southern entrance of 
the canal, and must benefit from the 
commercial activity which the canal 
will invite. 

President Mellen, of the New York, 
New Haven & Hartford Railroad, is 
alive to the situation, and is taking a 
personal interest in the transportation 
development of New Bedford. The 



Photograph by Geo. H. Nj< 

The oed industry and the new 

promise is given that New Bedford 
will have an industrial railro&d, con- 
necting every mill yard in the city 
with the main railroad line, and that a 
direct line between New York and 
Cape Cod, joining the Shore Line at 
Providence, and passing through New 
Bedford, will be built in the near 
future. The Providence end of this 
line of development is already begun. 

vSo much for New Bedford's com- 
mercial prospects.* Now a word or 
two of the city's history, which is an 
industrial romance. 

The first Englishman of note to 
stand on New Bedford soil was Bar- 
tholomew Gosnold, who visited the 
locality in 1602, bringing with him a 
journalist who described the bay in 
words which are as true to-day as they 
were over three hundred years ago : 
"Stately groves, flowering meadows 
and running brooks," wrote Gosnold's 

press agent, "afford delightful enter- 
tainment." Wise and wealthy peoph 
the country over appreciate the de- 
lights of the Buzzards Bay shores, and 
make their summer homes on the 
borders of the bay. There are one hun- 
dred summer resorts within trading 
distance of the city. 

Within a few years after the ar- 
rival of the Mayflower at Plymouth, 
the dwellers of the Pilgrim colony be- 
gan to look with covetous eyes upon 
the pleasant land which had charmed 
Gosnold, and in 1652 they acquired th< 
territory by purchase. The village 
which sprang up on the shores of the 
Acushnet remained an agricultural 
community for years. It was about 
1760 that Bedford Village, then a part 
of the mother town of Dartmouth, en- 
tered upon the whaling industry which 
made the city of later day famous, and 
sent its ships to every ocean on earth. 



For a hundred years, in spite of two 
wars with England, wars which well 
nigh ruined the commerce of the little 
community, New Bedford led the world 
in the chosen calling of its people. 
Then came the discovery and commer- 
cial utilization of mineral oil closely 
following the Civil War, which had 
proved disastrous to New Bedford's 
shipping, and after that two appalling 
disasters in the Artie, whereby New 
Bedford vessels valued at millions of 
dollars were caught and crushed in 
the ice, and of necessity abandoned. 

Such a combination of circumstances 
would have ruined a less courageous 
people. Balked on the ocean, New 
Bedford enterprise was directed to the 
manufacture of cotton sroods. From 

the starting of the Wamsutta Mills, in 
1846, with a capital of $160,000, an 
enterprise which was looked on with 
considerable misgiving, to the present 
time, when New Bedford's cotton mill 
investments amount to nearly thirty 
millions of dollars, the local manufac- 
ture of cotton goods has grown, until 
now it is the chief industry. 

For many years Sanfdrd & Kelley, 
local brokers, as a matter of public 
spirit and business judgment, have 
issued statistical statements bearing 
upon the business of New Bedford. 
Through their courtesy the following 
up-to-date showing of the cotton mill 
business is presented as the most satis- 
factory way of explaining the situa- 
tion at a glance: 



Acushnet Mills . . $500,000 

Beacon Mfg. Co 237,000 

Beacon Mfg. Co 250,000 

Bristol Mfg. Co 800,000 

Butler Mill 1,250,000 

City Mfg. Co „ . 750,000 

Dartmouth Mfg. Co 600,000 

Gosnold Mills Co 550,000 

Gosnold Mills Co 550,000 

Crinnell Mfg. Co 1,000,000 

Hathaway Mfg. Co 800,000 

Kilburn Mills 750,000 

Manomet Mills , 2,000,000 

*N. E. Cotton Yarn Co 

Nonquitt Spinning Co 1,200,000 

Page Mfg. Co 750,000 

Pierce Mfg. Co 600,000 

Potomska Mills 1,200,000 

Soule Mill . 1,050,000 

Taber Mill 950,000 

Wamsutta Mills 3,000,000 

Whitman Mills 1,500,000 

Holmes Mfg. Co. Com 

do. Pfd 

Nashawena Mill — 

N. B. Cotton Mill Co. Com 

do. Pfd ■ 

Pierce Bros. Mill 

Totals $20,287,000 

*In New Bedford. 










237,000 com 



250,000 pfd. 













825,000 com. 



825,000 pfd. 



















































Of the above mills, these are spin- 
ners of yarns, only: City Manufactur- 
ing Company, Kilburn Mills, Manomet 
Mills, New England Cotton Yarn Com- 
pany and Nonquitt Spinning Company. 

The product of the remaining mills is 
as follows : Acushnet Mills, line cotton 
goods; Beacon Manufacturing Com- 
pany, plain and fancy cotton blankets ; 
Bristol Manufacturing Company, fine 



Trinitarian congregational church 
First congrbgaTionai, church, unitarian 

Grace church, episcopal 

St. Lawrence catholic church 



Wharf scene, 1870 

cotton goods; Butler Mill, fine cotton, 
plain and fancy goods; Dartmouth 
Manufacturing Company, plain, fancy 
and jacquard fine cotton goods; Grin- 
nell Manufacturing Company, fine cot- 
ton, plain and fancy silk mixtures; 
Hathaway Manufacturing Company, 
fine cotton goods ; Page Manufacturing 
Company, various fine cotton goods; 
Pierce Manufacturing Company, fine 
cotton cloth; Potomska Mills, linons, 
lawns and fancy cotton goods; Soule 
Mill, plain and fancy cotton goods; 
Taber Mill, plain and fancy cotton 
weaves; Wamsutta Mills, shirtings, 
sheetings, cotton goods and high-grade 
yarns ; Whitman Mills, plain and fancy 
cotton goods. 

Of the new mills, now in process of 
erection, the product will be: Nasha- 
wena Mills, fine cotton yarns and cloth ; 
Pierce Brothers' Mill, fine cottcn cloth, 
including achitects' tracing cloth (the 

only mill in this country turning out 
this line) ; Holmes Mill, fine cotton 
yarns; New Bedford Cotton Mills Com- 
pany, fine cotton cloth; Langshaw Mill 
(a part of the Dartmouth plant), plain 
and fancy cottons. 

Although the New Bedford of to- 
day is pre-eminently a cotton mill city, 
it should be understood that there are 
other lines of industry in which New 
Bedford can claim leadership. The 
Morse Twist Drill & Machine Com- 
pany, for instance, turns out twist 
drills and machine tools which are 
shipped to every country on the face 
of the globe, and which are standard 
in that line; William F. Nye's oil re- 
finery, the largest fine oil refinery in 
the world, sends its cases of lubricating 
and watch oils to the remote parts of 
the earth, and the name of the manu- 
facturer is as familiar to watch and 
clock makers, at home and abroad, as 



their own; The New Bedford Cordage 
Company ships its manila and hemp 
products, spun and twisted by New 
Bedford workmen, everywhere that 
rope is used; The Pairpoint Manufac- 
turing Corporation's glass and silver- 
ware grace the tables of luxury 
throughout the United States, and in 
its paper mill department this concern 
makes cones, tubes and cops, used in all 
cotton mills, and keeps several ma- 
chines running the year round making 
the little paper cylinders which, when 
filled with powder, become the fire- 
crackers with which Young America 
celebrates the Fourth of July; the 
Taunton & New Bedford Copper Com- 
pany makes copper printing tolls and 
all sorts of copper and yellow metal 
products; the Crescent Manufacturing 
Company, a comparatively new in- 
dustry, weaves silk dress goods of the 
finest texture; the Oneko Woolen 
Mills, the only woolen manufactory in 
the city, makes suitings and all sorts of 
woolen weaves; the E. E. Taylor Com- 
pany turns out welt shoes a* fast as 
500 employees can put them together ; 
the Continental Wood Screw Company 
manufactures iron, brass and machine 
screws and wood screw machinery; 
the Standard Ring Traveller Company 
and the New Bedford Shuttle Company 
make travellers and loom shuttles used 
in cotton mills; the Blackner Cut 
Glass Company produces cut glass and 
decorated table ware; J. C. Rhodes & 
Co. manufacture eyelets for various 
purposes: Snell & Simpson bake bus- 
cuits and crackers and ship them to all 
quarters; the breweries of Dawson & 
Son and Smith Bros, manufacture beer, 

ale and ice; the Bay State Chair Com- 
pany sends its reed furniture through- 
out New England and the middle 
states; the Weeden Manufacturing 
Company makes many of the mechan- 
ical toys used by the American chil- 
dren; James L. Humphrey, Jr., manu- 
factures ice; The George L. Brownell 
Estate manufactures fine carriages, 
hearses and ambulances ; the Lambeth 
Rope Company manufactures cotton 
driving rope for the transmission of 
power; the Anderson Textile Manu- 
facturing Company makes tape novel- 
ties for package wrapping. There are 
other industries doing a smaller amount 
of business, and there is room in New 
Bedford for many more. 

New Bedford's banks are capitalized 
for $2,920,000, including the First Na- 
tional, $1,000,000; Mechanics' National, 
$600,000; Merchants' National, $1,000,- 
000; New Bedford Safe Deposit & 
Trust Company, $200,000; Fairhaven 
National, $120,000. The savings bank 
deposits at the close of business Dec. 
31, 1908, amounted to $25,841,430, 
divided as follows : New Bedford In- 
stitution for Savings, $16,548,996; New 
Bedford Five Cents Savings Bank, 
$9,292,435. The savings bank divi- 
dends in 1908 amounted to $922,- 
560. The two co-operative banks, 
the Acushnet and New Bedford, with 
a capital of $1,000,000 each, have out 
18,628 shares. No bank in New Bed- 
ford ever refused to pay a hundred 
cents on a dollar, on demand, and even 
in times of panic, the stay law was 
never resorted to. 

Pages might be written of the excel- 
lence of the fire department, the park 

The Gosnold miel 

The Kieborn miee 



The Hawthorne street eems 

system, the public and parochial 
schools, the New Bedford Textile 
school, the new Industrial school to be 
opened this month, the general good 
order and sobriety of the people, the 
hospitals and charitable institutions, the 
churches, the stores, the amusement 
places, the social organizations, did 
space permit. All these things add to 
the comfort and satisfaction of the 
people, and perform their part toward 
making the city attractive as a home. 

New Bedford's newspapers serve the 
city well. There are three dailies 
printed in English, "The Morning 
Mercury," "The Evening Standard," 
and the "Daily Times." The "Stan- 
dard" and "Times" run Sunday edi- 
tions. There are two French dailies 
and one Portuguese daily, besides 
numerous weekly papers printed in 
various languages. 

New Bedford's local transportation 

service is furnished by the Union 
Street Railway Company; the Dart- 
mouth & Westport, running between 
New Bedford and Fall River, the New 
Bedford & Onset, operating between 
New Bedford and Cape Cod points; the 
New Bedford, Middleboro and Brock- 
ton, a part of the Old Colony system, 
operating between New Bedford, Taun- 
ton, Middleboro and Brockton. There 
is a trolley freight service between New 
Bedford and Providence, and New 
Bedford and Cape Cod points 

The steamer connections are oper- 
ated by the New England Navigation 
Company, running a daily line between 
New Bedford and New York (freight 
in winter and passenger and fi eight in 
summer) ; the New Bedford, Marthas 
Vineyard & Nantucket Steamboat 
Company, running daily between New 
Bedford, Woods Hole, Marthas Vine- 
yard and Nantucket; and the New 



The Souee miee 

Oneko wooeen miee 
Manomet Miee 

Beacon miee 
Whitman mile 

Wamsutta miee 

Tabor miee 

New Bngeand cotton yarn co, 
vSouth miee 

Pierce miee 
Bristoe miee 

Nonquitt miee 



The Buteer miee 

Grinnee m^g. co. 
New Langshaw miee, Dartmouth peant 

New Holmes miee 
New New Bedford miee 

City meg. co. 

New Pierce Bros, miee 
acushnet miee 

Hathaway mile 

Page meg. co. 

New Nashawena miee 




Bedford Towboat Company, running 
daily trips in summer to Nonquitt and 
Cuttyhunk, and winter mail trips to 
the latter place. New Bedford is also 
a point of call for the Insular Naviga- 
tion Company, running a packet 
steamer between Lisbon, the Azores 
and the United States; there are also 
regular packets to and from the Cape 
Verde Islands, and St. Helena. 

One of New Bedford's proud posses- 
sions, as a municipality, is the water 
works system, which furnishes an un- 
limited pure supply from Little Quit- 
tacas Lake. The specially designed 
Leavitt engines located at the pump- 
ing station are acknowledged by water 
works engineers to be the finest in 
America. Water for manufacturing 
purposes is ten cents per one thou- 
sand gallons. 

Gas and electricity for street light- 
ing and commercial uses are supplied 
by the New Bedford Gas & Edison 
Light Company. The city is served by 
two telephone companies, the Southern 
Massachusetts, a part of the Bell sys- 
tem; and the Automatic, an indepen- 
dent line. 

A few words as to New Bedford's 
growth. When New Bedford became 
a city, in 1847, tne estimated popula- 
tion was 16,000. The national census 
of 1850 gave the number of people as 
16,443; m I 86o the number had grown 
to 22,300; between that time and 1865, 
when the state census was taken, there 
was a falling off, the census of that 
year showing only 20,855 5 m 1880, 
fifteen years later, the growth had 
reached only 26,845. Then New Bed- 
ford began to put on weight. In 1885, 
the increase was to 33,393, in 1890, 
40,733 ; in 1895, 55.251 ; in 1900, 62,442 ; 
in 1905, 74,362; in 1906, by a special 
census, 79,078. Since 1906, only the 
figures issued by the assessois, based 
upon the number of polls, have been the 
guide for estimate. This year's enum- 
eration, made by the assessors in May, 
has produced 23,956 polls, which, by 
the method of computation, indicates 
95,824 people. A conservative estimate 
of roo,ooo is not a bit too large at this 
writing. The prediction is made that 

on Jan. 1, 1910, New Bedford will have 
115,000 people. 

The real and substantial growth of 
the city is shown by the record of 
building operations kept at the build- 
ing inspection office. Since Jan. 1, 
1909, to the first of September, the esti- 
mated cost of new buildings begun is 
$4,937,900; the inspector of buildings 
has issued 675 permits to build since 
Jan. 1. In the case of the new mills, 
the estimated cost does not include 
equipment, but the structures alone. 

The statistics of the building depart- 
ment for the past five years tell a re- 
markable story, as the following table 
will show: 

No. Permits 



















; 1 0,660,627 1,448 3,545 

A glance at these figures shows that 
this year's building will be piactically 
three times that of any previous year. 

The assessors' valuation is $77,796,- 
381.25, divided as follows: Real estate, 
$46,670,900; personal, $29,609,325; 
banks, $1,516,156.25. The tax rate for 
the current year is $19 on $i ; ooo. Com- 
parison cannot be made between this 
rate and the rate in other cities, with- 
out an explanation. New Bedford 
levies no special taxes. The city lays 
out streets, paves, curbs and waters 
them and treats them with dust pre- 
ventive applications, provides schools, 
police and fire protection, collects gar- 
bage and ashes, etc., all of which are 
included in general taxation. The only 
expense which an abutter is called upon 
to pay, outside of his tax, is the ex- 
pense of granolithic sidewalks, if laid, 
and one half the expense of lateral 
sewers. Trunk sewers are laid at the 
common expense. 

One more reference, and New Bed- 
ford's story, so far as the limit of this 
article will permit, it told. This 
reference is to public buildings now in 



process of construction and near-con- 
struction. In 1906 the City Hall, a 
famous old stone structure, was prac- 
tically destroyed by fire. This build- 
ing is now being reconstructed for the 
use of the Free Public Library; it will 
be fire proof, will have the largest 
stack room in New England, and will 
be one of the handsomest and best 
equipped library buildings in the 
United States. From the present 
Library Building, used jointly as a 
library and for municipal offices, a new 
municipal administration building is 
being constructed, by alteration and 
addition. A new building for the regis- 
try of deeds is nearly finished on the 
square west of the new library. One 
block north of the new municipal build- 
ing, fronting on Pleasant street, the 
United States government has just 
bought a square on which a new post- 
office building will be erected Three 
new school-houses, two of which were 
completed during the past year, and 
one of which will be ready for use when 
school opens in September, have been 
added to the public school equipment 
at a cost of $200,000. Sketch plans have 
been accepted for a new twenty-room 
school building at the north end of the 
city, and for an addition to the Brock 
Avenue school-house, at the south end. 
Sketch plans are ready for a $500,000 
high school building. A new fire sta- 
tion, located at the north end, costing 
$22,000, will be put into commission 
by the time this article is printed. An 
appropriation has been made, and plans 

have been prepared for a $ivooo ad- 
dition to the almshouse. This latter 
project may not seem to make a noise 
like prosperity, but it is an indication 
of the growth of the city. 

New Bedford is a city of attractive 
homes, as well as a city of piosperity 
and cotton mills. While many of the 
mill workers live, temporarily, in the 
three and six-tenement blocks which 
shrewd investors are putting up, mush- 
room-like, at the north and south ends 
of the city, it is not for long, jor many 
of them. Big families and thrift are 
the fashion among the mill operatives, 
and after the children have passed the 
age at which Massachusetts law re- 
quires school attendance, they secure 
their school cards and go into the mills. 
Soon the combined family earning is 
sufficient to make a start toward a 
home; a house lot is purchased, the 
co-operative bank or the savings bank 
does the rest, and before ^ong the 
family of cotton mill operatives not 
only owns the house it lives in, but 
three or four others, which it rents. 

The secret of New Bedford's success 
as a mill city may be summed up 
briefly: A delightful, attractive natural 
situation, to start with ; a wise business 
policy, thoughtfully outlined and con- 
servatively followed ; the kind of work 
to attract the most-skilled operatives; 
and, last, the home-getting and home- 
keeping desire. 

Does not New Bedford offer some at- 
tractions to the reader, whether he has 
a capital or labor to invest? 

A Little Italy Along the Banks of 


How the Italian Mill Workers of Lawrence are Solving the Problem of Working 
in the City and Owning a Home in the Country. 

By Joseph McCarthy 


ANY one who fears that the aban- 
doned farms of New England 
will remain abandoned, or that 
the poor immigrants who find work 
in the great manufacturing cities of 
the east will all remain content to 
be hived in the closely-packed streets 
of the cities, should take a trip on the 
electric road that leads from Lawrence 
to Haverhill. There, about four miles 
from Lawrence, in level swales of 
land that slope 
gently to the - 
winding Merrimac 
may be seen one 
of the answers to 
the question : 
"How can the im- 
migrants be got 
out of the crowded 

For, from the 
electric cars can 
be seen, on either 
side of the line of 
the Boston & 
Northern, a settle- 
ment of Italians 

that is constantly growing, expand- 
ing and having added to it dwel- 
lings built by recent Italian immi- 

There must be fully 1500 Italians 
who make their homes here the year 
around, while they find employment a 
large part of the year in the mills of 
Lawrence. They go back and forth 
to their work in the mills on the elec- 
trics, though some of the more eco- 

nomical do not hesitate to get up early 
enough in the morning to walk the 
four miles to the Lawrence mills and 
be inside the gates before the stroke 
of 6.30. 

It is a most picturesque village, or 
collection of houses. Some of the 
houses are little better than unclap- 
boarded shacks, and remind one of the 
sod houses that were put up and are 
still put up by the homesteaders in the 
far west. They, 
are not much big- 
ger than good- 
sized dog kennels 
and the wonder 
is that any human 
beings could en- 
dure the rigors of 
a New England 
winter in them. 

But many of 
the Italian new- 
comers have 
passed a winter in 
these flimsy struc- 
tures and have 
managed to save 
enough to build a better house for the 
next year. Or they have kept on ad- 
ding to the old shack, putting on clap- 
boards, shingling it, plastering it, ad- 
ding an ell here and there and putting 
on an additional story as their families 
increased, until what was not even a 
good barn has become quite a com- 
modious and comfortable house. 

As the settlement has grown, three- 
story tenement houses have risen 


use Buii/r by Lawrence Italians 




INk » 'I 



Second house and the eamiey that occupied it the year around 

here and there and several stores do 
a good business with their Italian cus- 
tomers. As they are presumably not 
bothered with a very high rent they 
probably are able to sell pretty close 
to cost price. 

Not all of the houses are of wood. 
Among the Italians who have settled 
in this suburban "Little Italy" are 
quite a few expert mechanics, men 
who have been trained in the art of 
making concrete houses. Some of 
these concrete houses, as will be seen 
by the photographs, are quite ornate 
little affairs as well as being solid and 
substantial. The interior of one of 
them, which was visited by the writer at 
the invitation of the owner, was found 
to have about every modern comfort 
and convenience, with the exception 
of "city water." That will come in 
time, the proud owner asserted, and 
one can well believe that these in- 
genious and industrious Italians will 
find a way to have "city water" in 
their houses before long, even if they 
are miles away from the piped supply 
of the city of Lawrence. 

When the work is dull in the mills 
of Lawrence, and during their spare 
time in the evenings and on Sundays 
and holidays, these dwellers on a worn- 
out farm put in many a laborious hour 
bending over the soil, digging, plowing, 
enriching it with various kinds of fer- 
tilizers, planting and later reaping 
the grain and vegetables that are 
dear to the heart of the transplanted 

From the time the snow goes in 
early March, the women folk of this 
colony can be seen industriously bend- 
ing over the land and going over it 
with the minute care of the intensive 
farmer. And their fields in early sum- 
mer and until late in the fall show the 
good results of such intelligent care and 
industry they are lesplendent in all the 
greens, reds and yellows of the various 
vegetables and yield the most bountiful 
of crops. These factory-farmers, as 
one might call them, find a ready sale 
for all their surplus vegetables in the 
city of Lawrence. The large Italian 
colony that lives in that city furnish- 
es a fine market for all the vegetables 



Third type of house buii/t in the 

that may be termed, distinctively, Ital- 

The Italian colony in Lawrence, of 
which these occupants of the pictur- 
esque houses along the river are off- 
shoots, is now one of the largest in 
New England. There are said to be 
fully 6000 Italians in Lawrence now 
and they are being steadily added to. 
With the great growth of the mills in 
that city and the activity now evi- 
dent in the mill business there are many 
indications that thousands of more Ital- 
ians, as well as representatives of other 
southeastern European races will soon 
be added to the population. 

The country settlement of part of 
them is a way out from the dangerous 
overcrowding that characterizes many 
cement houses. None of these 
factory cities. It gives them a 
chance to get fresh air as well 
as fresh vegetables and it gives 
many of them a stake in the 
country by owning a bit of land 
and house, or something that 
can be called house, on it. 

That the industrious Italian 
will not long remain content 
with a shack for a dwelling is 
proved by the accompanying 
illustrations which show the 
rapid progress made from the 
first rough shelters to comfort- 
able wooden and stone and 
houses were built three years 
ago. All of them, and there 

are fully three hundred belong- 
ing to Italians, have been put 
up during the past two years. 
In another two years they 
will probably have paved side- 
walks running where the un- 
ploughed fields were three 
years ago. 

From the early spring until 
the late fall they really have 
an enjoyable time compared 
with their fellow workers in the 
mills who live in the crowded 
tenement blocks. 

A good part of their lives is 
passed in the open farming 
country, though it is so near to 
the city. They can see the 
picturesque Merrimac flowing at the 
bottom of their fields. A noble 
panorama of nature's creation spreads 
out all around the horizon, taking 
in, in its sweep, the encircling hills 
of Haverhill, to the east ; the uplands of 
North Andover, to the south, and on 
the west the ramparts of Prospect and 
Clover hills in Lawrence, that tower 
high enough to shut out all sight of 
the giant chimneys of the great manu- 
facturing city. The view is inspiring 
and when clothed with summer's ver- 
dure must be refreshingly grateful to 
these country folk of Italy after a hot 
day inside the mills. 

Here in the evening concerts are fre- 
quently given by orchestras made up 
of dwellers in these houses or of sere- 

Fourth type oe house built in the 



A eine old New England homestead, one hundred and eiety years old, 


nading compatriots from Common 
street in Lawrence. And when a 
half dozen guitars get to thrumming 
out the strains of "Santa Lucia" and 
men and women by the score join in, 
it sounds as fine under a New Eng- 
land moon as ever it did across the 
waters of the bay of Naples. 

As an example of what can be done 
by the immigrant worker in the mills 
of New England to combine country 
and city life in a pleasing, healthful 
and uplifting way, these dwellers in 
the "Little Italy" along the banks of 
the Merrimac are making a splendid 
success, considering the difficulties they 
have had to overcome and the handi- 
cap under which they started. 

They give every promise that, in the 
course of five or ten years, many of 
them will be owners of large and 
profitably conducted farms and be a 
strong force in the movement that will 
bring the country parts of New Eng- 
land into sharing largely in the pros- 
perity of the cities. 2A5o 5 

With the rapid development of com- 
munication between the farms and the 
cities, such industrious and intelligent 
farmers as these Italians are proving 
to be, are destined to have no small 
part in what some far-sighted people 
believe is to be one of the greatest 
eras of prosperity rural New England 
has ever seen. 

Some Adventures of the Wife and 
Son of Henry Hudson 



Richard Hudson in Japan, 1614-1623 

OF all the navigators produced 
by the golden age of explora- 
tion, none has been happier in 
the enduring quality of his fame than 
Henry Hudson. All the elements of 
contemporary circumstance and post- 
humous events seem to have combined 
for the preservation and magnification 
oi his reputation. In the pages of his- 
tory is to be found nothing but praise 
oi his skill and courage, mingled only 
with a tender regret for his untimely 
end. The ideal captain of a heroic age, 
he had the exceptional good fortune to 
have his name perpetuated by two 
great natural features of a new conti- 
nent, one of which has become, and 
will always remain, an important 
center of human interest and activity. 
In one respect Fate dealt somewhat 
harshly with Hudson, in that, for many 
years, very little was known about his 
personality, his family, or his antece- 
dents. In writing his Henry Hudson 
the Navigator, published by the Hakluyt 
Society in i860, Dr. Asher felt obliged 
to say: "The whole period of his life 
known to us extends over little more 
than four years, from April 19, 1606, to 
June 21, 1611." In the year preceding 
the appearance of Asher's work, Henry 
C. Murphy, United States Minister at 
The Hague, had found in the Royal 
Archives there a copy of the contract 
between Hudson and the Amsterdam 
Chamber of the Dutch East India Com- 
pany. This contract, which led to the 
discovery of the Hudson River, is still 
in existence. It shows that Hudson 
was an "Englishman," that he had a 
"wife and children," and that an inter- 

preter was employed in the negotia- 
tions, because he did not understand 

For many years past a series of im- 
portant historical collections has been 
appearing in England, including the 
publications of the Hakluyt and other 
societies, the Calendars of State Papers, 
the Records of the English East India 
Company, and other similar publica- 
tions. No single discovery of first- 
rate importance concerning Captain 
Hudson or his voyages has been made, 
yet many interesting side-lights are 
thrown upon his associates and some 
disclosures made concerning his im- 
mediate family. It appears that he had 
at least one son, in addition to John, 
who is usually described in histories as 
an only son, and that he left a widow; 
and we are able to trace the fortunes 
of this widow and younger son for a 
time and to follow them through some 
interesting adventures. 

The story opens on the fourteenth 
day of April, 1614, in the council cham- 
ber of the English East India Com- 
pany, at London, where the directors 
were discussing the extension of trade, 
the rivalry of the Dutch, and the ar- 
rangements for a new voyage to the 
Far East. Announcement was made 
that Mrs. Katharine Hudson was with- 
out, and had a boon to crave. Almost 
three years had elapsed since "that 
worthy irrecoverable discoverer, Mas- 
ter Henry Hudson," was left to perish 
in the great inland sea. The ships sent 
out to search for him had brought no 
news, and none would ever come; but 
the directors could not yet reconcile 
themselves to this, and described their 
caller as "Mistress Hudson, the wife or 
widow of Mr. Hudson, who was left in 





Ideae statue oE Henry Hudson, by J. Massey Rhind 

the Northwest discovery." Mrs. Hud- 
son "desired their favor for the em- 
ploying of a young youth, a son of his, 
she being left very poor and unable to 
maintain the charge." It appears that 
the name of the "young youth" was 
Richard. There is nothing to show his 
years ; but his elder brother, John, was 
a young man of fifteen or sixteen at 
the time of his death, and there was 

evidently a difference of several years 
in their ages, so it seems safe to as- 
sume that he was a mere boy. 

The directors "conceived that therein 
they were partly obliged in charity to 
give assistance, in regard that his 
father perished in the service of the 
commonwealth," and on the 19th idem 
ordered him to be bound apprentice "to 
some one man for the Company's use 



hereafter." The man selected was 
John Hunt, who was going on the con- 
templated voyage as master's mate of 
the ship Samaritan. Five pounds were 
ordered to be laid out upon the boy for 
"apparel and necessaries." The fleet, 
consisting of the Samaritan, the Thomas, 
and the Thomasinc, all under the com- 
mand of General David Middleton, 
sailed in June or July. 

The fleet reached the Cape of Good 
Hope on the Third of October, 
''where," wrote Middleton, "we had re- 
freshing both of flesh and fish to con- 
tent." Departing thence on the 20th > 
they made Bantam, Java, on the 13th 
or 14th of February, 1615. Here the 
General called a court to determine the 
disposition of the ships, and it was 
ordered, among other things, that the 
slander (or Hoseander), "a ship for- 
lorn," (laid up for want of men) 
should be sent to Japan, with Hunt as 
master. Middleton furnished the ship 
with "the principal men" of his fleet, 
thirty in number, "together with pro- 
vision of furniture and victuals," and 
she was to touch at the English factory 
at Patani, in Siam, and take on com- 
modities suitable for Japan. Richard 
Hudson took passage on this ship, as 
did also John Osterwick, both having 
been assigned to the English trading 
post, or "factory," in Japan. Of the 
events of the voyage we learn little; 
the ship reached its destination on the 
iast day of August, and Richard Hud- 
son passed from the care of Captain 
Hunt to that of Captain Richard Cocks, 
the head of the factory in Japan. 

The English attempt to establish 
trade with Japan was largely due to 
an Englishman named William Adams, 
who, after an adventurous voyage, 
reached the coast of that country in 
April, 1600. He was sent to the court 
of the Shogun by his comrades, and 
there, because of his knowledge of 
mathematics and ship-building, was 
taken into favor and became a man of 
great influence. Indeed, he was "in 
such favor with two emperors of Japan 
as never was any Christian." He was 
made an officer and granted the rev- 
enues of the village of Hemi, near the 

modern city of Yokosuka, where is 
now situated the imperial ship-building 
plant. He married a Japanese woman 
and had by her a son and a daughter. 
Permission to return to his family, in 
iingland, was, however, refused him, 
and he was virtually a prisoner until 
1612. In October, 161 1, he addressed 
a letter to his "unknown friends and 
countrymen," who had settled in Java, 
calling their attention to the opportuni- 
ties for trade in Japan. The com- 
pany was then looking for openings for 
trade and lost no time in despatching 
from England a fleet equipped for the 
establishment of a factory. The ship 
Clove, of this fleet, under command of 
Captain John Saris, reached Japan on 
the 12th day of June, 1612. 

Upon Saris's intervention, the Sho- 
gun released Adams and he took ser- 
vice under the Company at their fac- 
tory, for two years. Limited trading 
privileges were granted, and the fac- 
tory was located at Firando (also writ- 
ten Hirado and Hirato), in the Strait 
of Korea, at the extreme west of Japan, 
on the east side of the island of Firan- 
do. This was a convenient port for 
shipping from Europe, it lay in a fa- 
vorable position for opening trade with 
China, and its ruler was friendly; but, 
on the other hand, it was on an insig- 
nificant island, there was no good an- 
chorage, and the Dutch, who had been 
settled in Firando for some years, 
proved formidable rivals. The old 
ruler, Foyne Sama, shared the govern- 
ment with his grandson, Figen a (or 
Figeno) Sama. The former was friend- 
ly and encouraged foreign trade; but 
he died in 1614, and Figen a Sama 
proved a weak ruler, who was gov- 
erned by his nobles, and the latter 
were hostile to the English. 

It was stipulated that, as one of the 
conditions of their trading privileges, 
the English were to carry a present to 
the Shogun whenever one of their 
ships arrived from Europe. The regu- 
lar route for this journey, over which 
Richard Hudson was to pass more 
than once, was down the inland sea to 
Osaka, thence by land to Suruga (now 
called Shidzuoka), where the Shogun, 



Detail From Interior oe Capitoe Buieding, Albany, N.Y. 

Iyeyasu, resided. It was also neces- 
sary to visit, in returning, the court of 
Hidetada, son of Iyeyasu, at Yedo, his 
father having transferred the title to 
him and he being the actual Shogun. 
Saris left eight men in the new fac- 
tory. The cape or head-merchant was 
"Richard Cocks. He was one of the 
original incorporators of the Company, 
having subscribed £200, and resided 
abroad five years before going to Japan. 
His selection for a post presenting so 
many difficulties was not a forunate 
one. He was both easy-going and 
quarrelsome. There seems reason to 
believe that he was the dupe of a de- 
signing Chinaman, Andrea Dittis, 
whom he called the Captain of the 
China Quarter, or the China Captain. 
It was through this man that 
he chiefly endeavored to secure 

concessions for the much-desired 
trade with China, and considerable 
sums were paid the China Captain 
and his brother, to be used in forward- 
ing the negotiations, but nothing ever 
came of them. On the other hand, 
many traits make the old Captain an 
agreeable character, even though he 
was not a successful business agent. He 
cultivated a garden and planted the 
first potatoes grown in Japan. He 
kept a diary, most of which has sur- 
vived. . This diary abounds in strange 
words, borrowed from many tongues; 
its language is archaic and misspelled 
with great ingenuity, yet it gives an 
entertaining picture of Japanese man- 
ners and much information of value. 
Cocks very weaknesses render his story 
entertaining; and in its trivialities and 
unconscious humor it deserves a last- 



ing place in the literature of its class. 
Some of his letters from Japan having 
been sent to King James I. to read, he 
declared they contained "the loudest 
lies that he had ever heard"; but the 
verdict of the modern reader will be 
that, to the extent of his powers, Cocks 
was a faithful chronicler. There is 
contemporary testimony that he was a 
man of honesty, years and judgment. 

William Adams, who was second in 
authority under Cocks, was employed 
in various capacities about the factory. 
He was a man of more skill and learn- 
ing than Cocks, who stood somewhat 
in awe of him. They quarrelled at 
times, but, despite occasional out- 
bursts, got on fairly well together. 

Richard Wickham was an old em- 
ployee of the Company, who had led 
an adventurous life. He was in more 
independent circumstances than the 
other factors. His letter-book for the 
years from 1614 to 1616 is still pre- 
served in the India Office. 

William Eaton and Edmund Sayers 
were with the factory from the first, 
and were the only members, besides 
Cocks and Richard Hudson, who re- 
mained till the end. Tempest Peacock 
and Walter Carwarden were among 
the original members, but soon went 
on a trading voyage to Cochinchina, 
where the former was drowned and 
whence the latter never returned. Wil- 
liam Nealson, also an original mem- 
ber, was consumptive, quarrelsome, 
and addicted to drink. Cocks registers 
many complaints about Nealson's con- 
duct, especially when he was in his 
"fustian fumes." Osterwick, who 
joined the factory in 1615, with 
Richard Hudson, was of Dutch descent, 
and was a kinsman of Wickham. He 
was the accountant of the factory. The 
eight original members, with Oster- 
wick and Hudson, a cook and a few 
servants, comprised the total member- 
ship of the factory; and toward the 
end the number of factors was re- 
duced to four. 

Upon the arrival of the slander off 
Cochi (the harbor of Firando), 
salutes were exchanged with the Dutch 
factory and due ceremony observed. A 

visit to the court of the Shogun, with 
presents, being necessary, Capt. Ralph 
Coppindall was assigned to that duty. 
While awaiting his return, the Osiander 
was brought aground and sheathed. 
She sailed again on February 26th, 
1616, greatly to Cock's relief, for the 
crew were a turbulent lot of Dutch- 
men, concerning whom he writes : "A 
strange kind of people they are all of 
them which came in this shipp"; and 
again : "I never saw a more forward 
and bad leawd company then most of 
them are." Neither did he like Captain 
Hunt, although at the beginning he 
had made him a peace-offering of "a 
pig, 6 hense, 10 loves of bread, with 
peares, redish, cowcumbers, and bell 
engines." A rumor having arrived, 
soon after the Osiander 's departure, that 
she had been attacked by a Portuguese 
vessel and several of the crew killed 
and made prisoners, Cocks gravely 
recorded his opinion that it was too 
good to be true. Concerning Hunt he 
felt constrained to write: "I could not 
forget to note downe how Mr. Hunt, 
the master of the Hozeander, fell out 
with Roland Thomas, the purcer. Soe 
they went together by the eares. I 
condemn them both very much, but 
surely they were drunk, espetially the 
master, and I think he is crazed in his 

Richard Hudson was now settled at 
the factory where he was to pass eight 
>ears. His position was that of an un- 
attached servant, whose duties and oc- 
cupations may be inferred, to some 
extent, from Cocks' diary. His associ- 
ates were, at first, Cocks, Nealson and 
Osterwick. Branch factories had been 
opened soon after Saris' departure and 
different members sent to take charge 
of them: Wickham to Yedo, Eaton td 
Osaka, and Sayers to the northern 
parts of Kiushiu and the island of Tsu- 
chima; while Adams, Peacock, and 
Carwarden had gone on a voyage to 
Cochinchina. About a year after Hud^ 
son's arrival, the branch factories had 
to be closed, and after that the force 
consisted of Cocks, Adams, Wickham, 
Eaton, Sayers, Nealson, Osterwick, and 
Hudson. Later, death and departures 


-: ' - 


Fac-simiee oe better erom Richard Hudson 



made gaps in their ranks, which will 
be noted in passing. 

The first mention of young Hudson 
by Cocks is under date of April 20, 
1616, when he seems to have been 
temporarily residing at Osaka and to 
have sent a letter by Eaton : 

"I received a letter from Ric. Hud- 
son, with 2 others, 1 from Capt. 
Adames sonne, and the other from 
our hostes at Miaco and Osakay, 
he of Miaco sending me 2 pewter 
basons for a present, and the other 
of Osakay 10 pewter pottage 

In the summer of this year the old 
Shogun, Iyeyasu, died and was suc- 
ceeded by his son, Hidetada. It was, 
therefore, necessary to send a repre- 
sentative to the court of the new ruler, 
to petition for the confirmation of the 
English trading privileges. The ships 
Thomas and Advice arriving from Eng- 
land at this juncture, the visit became 
doubly necessary. Cocks assembled 
the presents and set out, on the 30th 
of July, and was absent till December 
4th. He was accompanied by Captain 
Adams, who had just returned from 
Siam, also by Eaton and Richard Hud- 
son. It was his intention to leave the 
latter at Miaco to be taught the Jap- 
anese tongue; but Hidetada was of a 
different mind from his father and this 
privilege, as well as the others sued 
for, was denied. Cocks says, in a letter 
to John Browne, at Patani : 

"Yet we have had much trouble 
(in) these parts per means of the 
death of Ogosho Samma, the old 
Emperor, in whose place Shongo 
Samme, his son, succeeds. So that 
(I) was forced to go to his court 
to get our privileges renewed 
which voyage I was above four 
months before I returned to Firan- 
do, which was but ten or twelve 
days past. And yet, do what I 
could, our privileges are curtailed 
and we restrained to have trade 
only at this town of Firando and 
Langasaque. So that we are 
forced to withdraw our factories 

from Edo, Miaco, Osakay and Sac- 
kay, not without great hindrance 
to the present sale or despatch of 
our commodities. ... In fine, 
I might not be suffered to leave an 
English boy (Richard Hudson) be- 
hind me to learn the Japon tongue, 
it is so strictly looked into." 

In a letter to the Company, Cocks 
wrote further concerning this : 

"And it is to be noted that at 
my retorne to Miaco, haveingdonne 
such busynes as I had theare, I 
would have left Richard Hudson, 
a boy, your Wor. servant, to have 
learnd to write the Japans; but 
might not be suffered to doe it, the 
Emperour haveing geven order to 
the contrary." 

Before his return to Firando, Cocks 
visited the estate of Captain Adams 
and greatly admired its material ad- 
vantages and Adams' power over it. 
He says : 

"This Phebe (Hemi) is a lord- 
shipp geven to Capt. Adames per 
the ould Emperor, to hym and his 
(heirs) for eaver, and confermed 
to his sonne called Joseph. There 
is above 100 farmes or howsholds 
upon it, bisids others under them, 
all which are his vassals, and he 
hath power of life and death over 
them, they being his slaves, and ht 
as absolute authoritie over them as 
any tono (or king) in Japon hath 
over his vassales." 

Captain Adams' term of service with 
the Company had expired, but he con- 
tinued to make himself useful at the 
factory and elsewhere. 

With their trading privileges cur- 
tailed, the life at Firando was con- 
tracted within narrow limits. The 
good Captain rambles amiably along in 
his diary, entering trivialities and com- 
plaints in the most painstaking manner, 
and recording the quarrels among the 
members in a helpless kind of way. 
On March 8, 1618, "Ric. Hoodson paid 
Georg Durons (a member of the Dutch 
factory) for sope and candelles, viz : — 



The Hudson River from Grant's Tomb 

ta [els] m [as] Co [candareens] 

For 18 cakes sope i o o 

For 128 tallo cannelles.i 6 o 

and the following day: "Ric. Hudson 
paid 1 tay 3 mas for a vyne tree to be 
carid to Firando." 

But if the records are scanty, it is 
not to be inferred that nothing of inter- 
est transpired. Wickham left Japan 
early in 1618, and went to Java, where 
he died soon after his arrival, leaving 
an estate of £5000 or £6000, made in 
private trading. Travelling visitors ar- 
rived and departed, Englishmen, 
Dutchmen, Spaniards, Portuguese, cap- 
tains, merchants, men-o'-war's-men, 
missionaries, and so forth. They seem 
to have been a hardy lot of swash- 
bucklers, equally ready to fight, drink, 
or go adventuring, and some of them 
caused the peace-loving cape-merchant 
much trouble. 

One cause alone — their rivalries and 
troubles with the Dutch — kept the little 

band in a state of agitation and at 
one time brought them into grave dan- 
ger. Cocks disliked and distrusted his 
Dutch neighbors from the first, and 
was at no pains to conceal his feelings, 
while the Dutch seem to have been in 
much the same state of mind. Instead 
of being allies against the Spanish and 
Portuguese, as was originally hoped, 
the Dutch proved themselves formid- 
able rivals, who undersold the English 
and, in the end, starved them out. The 
dissensions between the rival factories 
form a large part of the burden of 
Cocks' diary, throughout the whole 
period of his stay. After the curtail- 
ment of the English privileges, the al- 
tered state of feeling at Yedo was re- 
flected in the conduct of the local Jap- 
anese officials, and especially by the 
Dutch neighbors, until there ensued a 
state of almost open warfare. In Au- 
gust, 1618, to the intense indignation of 
the English, a Dutch ship brought in as 
a prize the English ship Attendance, 



which had been captured in the Moluc- 
cas. Remonstrance to the Dutch pro- 
ducing no result, a journey to court 
was made and a written protest en- 
tei ed, but this proved equally fruitless. 

From January 14, 1619, to December 
5, 1620, the diary is missing, and the 
only record of events is in Cocks' let- 
ters to the Company. In the early part 
of this period the Dutch were masters 
of the sea and the little band of Eng- 
lishmen were completely cut off. Dur- 
ing this period the Dutch made a 
determined attack upon the Eng- 
lish factory, and the lives of the mem- 
bers would doubtless have been lost had 
not the Japanese interfered and pro- 
tected them. Cocks writes that the 
Dutch, "by sound of trumpet aboard all 
their ships in the harbour of Firando, 
proclaimed open war against our Eng- 
lish nation, both by sea and land, with 
fire and sword, to take our ships and 
goods and destroy our persons to the 
utmost of their power, as to their 
mortal enemies." 

The unimaginative Cocks, who set 
down so many trifles, failed to say any- 
thing about the bearing of the dif- 
ferent members of the factory in this 
crisis. Let us trust that Richard Hud- 
son bore himself like a worthy son of 
a heroic father. 

The year 1620 was eventful both for 
good and evil. Early in the year, per- 
mision was granted to include Na- 

gasaki in the English trade concessions, 
and a little later the English and Dutch 
East India Companies formed an alli- 
ance, and it was arranged for the fleets 
ot the two nations to combine against 
the Spanish and Portuguese in Eastern 

In March, William Nealson died, "be- 
ing wasted away with a consumption," 
and "our good friend, Capt. William 
Adames, whoe was soe longe before 
us in Japon, departed out of this world 
the xvjth of May." Notwithstanding 
Adams' rather hasty temper, he had 
rendered the Company faithful service. 
He was buried, at a spot w r hich he him- 
self had chosen, on the summit of a hill 
overlooking the bay of Yedo and the 
surrounding landscape, where his tomb 
may still be seen. One of the streets 
of Yedo was named for him, Anjin Cho 
(Pilot Street), and, it is said, the inhab- 
itants of that city hold an annual cele- 
bration in his honor. 

In 1621, apparently believing that, 
owing to their improved relations with 
the Dutch, trade would begin to pros- 
per, the English began new works on a 
large scale, including a warehouse and 
wharves. But the animosities between 
the rival factories were too deeply 
rooted, and it was not long before dis- 
sensions again broke out ; and they con- 
tinued to the end, without, however, 
again reaching the stage of actual war- 

( To be continued) 



This pregnant chrysalis of gloom doth split, 
And feebly issues from the widening slit 
Some tender, rosy Thing that trembling clings 
To yonder edge of Earth, — the while frail wings, 
First crumpled and awry, expand, unfold, 
And spread awide their filmy gauze of gold 
And rainbow-stuff all-quivering with light — 
Then launches forth on strong, resplendent flight, 
Diffusing over Earth from bourne to bourne 
The matchless radiance of the new-fledged Morn. 

An Idyl of the Bottomlands— II 



IT was impossible to resist his warm 
personality with its hopeful con- 
fidence. She smiled even as she 
replied, rather dolefully, 

"But we was to be married." 

"So we was, so we be yet — ain't we? 
Will you marry me anyhow, Pernilla? 
It may all be clear through with in 
less than four weeks. What if I'm 
free by the weddin'-day?" 

"Then I'll marry you," responded 
Pernilla, eagerly. 

"God bless you! But if — if they 
manage to send me off like a thief?" 

"Well, you ain't one, and if they 
send you off like one — well, my white 
dress'll keep till you come back. I 
must go — just now." 

She pinned up her hair in a twisted 
coil, and he guided her down the 

"Good-by— by-by— by-by," he softly 
called, as the old boat pushed off. 

Back she hurried along the lane, 
brushing off fragrant drifts of June- 
berry blossoms, and catching her dress 
on mischievous blackberry vines ever 
on the alert. 

As she reached home, Cassiopea 
hung low over the bluffs. Tintings of 
pink and blue beyond the Mississippi 
boded the far lustre of dawn. 

The trial came on and the country 
around was there, men and women. 
The old clergyman sat by Rosengren, 
being probably the sternest judge 
present. To Pernilla, the buzz, faces, 
and all were a vague, oppressive dream, 
and what she or anyone else said she 
did not know. 

When her part was over, she went 
out and walked home the six miles, 
wondering when she would again see 
her lover. 

What testimony there was, was cer- 
tainly against John Erick, and though 
is was indecisive the crowd felt anx- 

John Erick thought of but one thing, 
that glorious vision of Pernilla in the 
moonlight, holding the Bible for him 
to swear by. Would she marry him? 
Would her white dress "keep?" The 
testimony he did not care for, it had 
nothing t> do with him. But Per- 
nilla — 

Undeniably, all were much more in- 
fluenced by the fact that John Erick 
voluntarily came back to the jail after 
his brief freedom to face it out than 
by the run of evidence, so when it was 
all over, ready for the verdict, the 
public were jubilant to receive, without 
unnecessaiy delay, the acquittal of the 

People went home to weed their 
gardens, to kill potato-bugs, to wonder 
who stole Rosengren's money, and 
what Pernilla would do with her fine 

The next day Pernilla knelt before 
the big green chest with its massive 
iron handles, many a counterpart of 
which, to this very day, arrives at 
Castle Garden. 

Unlocking the heavy padlock that 
guarded her treasures, Pernilla threw 
up the heavy lid. There were towels, 
sheets, and pillow-cases of her own 
make, and two table-cloths brought 
from Sweden. 

There was a real American patch- 
work quilt, so far superior to her other 
eighteen, and, indeed, to every other 
one in the settlement, that she never 
kept it with the rest. No other girl 
had had skill and patience to work out 
the elaborate "Texas Rising Sun" pat- 
tern, or to quilt anything one-half so 
closely as this was quilted. There was 




also her hat, which she held up to see 
the frosted straw sparkle in the light, 
looking a little dubiously at the scarlet 
poppy. Then she closed the chest, 
locked the trusty padlock, and came 
downstairs with her half-finished wed- 
ding-dress in her arms. 


Rozina and her mother were wonder- 
stricken. It gradually came to them 
that she intended to finish it. In 
silence she went to work. 

" What's that for?" asked her mother. 

"Better finish the weddin' dress for 
the weddin'," was the slow reply. 

"Weddin'?" gasped her mother. 

But Rozina rushed up to her sister, 
crying, "Be you goin' to marry him? 
Be you? Can I help you sew?" 

Pernilla dropped everything to stare 
at her sister. Was this the girl who 
had for weeks, months refused to do a 
thing for the wedding? What had 
come over her? 

But with Rozina's excited exclama- 
tions, Rosengren had come to the door, 
and now strode forward to Pernilla. 

The women all shrank back at his 
angry look. 

"Yes, I ask, too, be you goin' to 
marry that John Erick? Answer me!" 

It was her father, he who had ever 
indulged his girls. She knew he be- 
lieved her lover guilty. What could 
she say not to further incense him? 

"Be you goin' to marry him?" he 


"You be? A thief as stole from your 

"He didn't take it, he didn't. I tell 
you, father, somebody else did." 

"Ha, ha, ha! Bring out the thief, 
then, so I can make a wedding for you 
'n John Erick. Bring him out. Put 
him out. But if you don't, you shan't 
have a cent from me, nor an acre of 
land ; and don't come here to be mar- 

Pernilla flushed and paled as her heart 
throbbed violently at the wrathful 
words, but, with calm dignity, she said, 
as her father was leaving the room : 

"I don't ask nothing but my white 

The girls sewed, and Rozina chat- 
tered and cried alternately. She 
brought out her white goods, and 
would have it cut out just like her 

"But where will you be married?" 
came out at last. 

"Over on the island," answered Per- 
nilla, with tears in her eyes. 

Her listeners knew what that meant. 
It meant to dispense with a license, 
and go off like a runaway couple. 
"The island" was a synonym for true 
love that had not run smooth. 

"Our minister?" faltered her mother. 

"No, the justice," fell like lead on 
this orthodox home-circle. 

"Oh, my child, it don't seem — seem 
religious to be married in American." 

"I know, mother, but I've got over 
that. Do you know," she proceeded, 
with flashing eyes and rising before 
them in her regal indignation — "do you 
know, John Erick asked our minister 
to go over there and do it, and he 
wouldn't. He said he didn't marry 
runaway folks only to get a present of 
stolen money. That's what he said, 
and it's more religious to be married 
in American than to be married by that 

The wedding-day came with the fair- 
est June morning. Pernilla begged 
Rozina to go along, but she said the 
ride would make her ill. 

So, on the high spring-seat of John 
Erick's new wagon, with the Justice 
and John's chum on a board behind, 
they drove along the beautiful Swede 
Creek road, around the foot of Old 
Rattlesnake, to the ferry. 

The blue Mississippi was calm and 
bright in the afternoon air, and over 
the Wisconsin Hills beyond, strayed 
the shadows of the white clouds. 

After a brief waiting at the shore, 
the ferryboat came, and they drove on 
it, being the only passengers for this 
trip. From this same landing-place, 
shady and inviting, where the road ran 
down to the river beneath festoons and 
loops of vines clambering over the 
trees, many a bridal couple had anx- 



iously wailed for the old, flat-bottomed 
ferry-boat that communicated with 
the island. Pernilla wondered who 
had been the bride before her, and the 
ferry-hands well-nigh forgot to work 
the raft along the cable as they looked 
upon the fair bride of to-day. John 
Erick persisted in saying sweet things 
to her in Swedish, which Pernilla was 
sure the Justice understood, and which 
John Erick hoped he did. 

Perhaps it was this, and perhaps it 
was the river breezes, that made her 
cheeks so red. 

The families that lived on the island 
side had witnessed more than one 
wedding, but none to equal this in in- 
terest. Was it possible that here, on 
desecrated ground, as it were, they 
were to behold the belle of Swede 
Creek and John Erick Peterson? 

The ferry-men waited on the old boat 
at the strand. From some tattered 
wigwams a few dilapidated specimens 
of Indians stole into the bushy back- 
ground. Pernilla laid aside her hat and 
shawl, and stood bareheaded under a 
great maple. 

Vegetation over the whole island 
was rich and lovely. Heavy woods 
rose around them. The afternoon 
shadows from the Minnesota side 
cooled the air, which was redolent with 
the fragrance of flowering shrubs. 

Jungles of tall cornel shrubs and 
elder bushes were in bloom, a sea of 
white in among the trees as far as eye 
could see. The bride, in her white 
dress, was almost overshadowed by 
cymes and tassels of the festive, white- 
blooming bushes about her. 

The June wind kissed her black hair; 
snowy petals fell on the silken grass; 
the birds sang in the wild-wood; and 
the river ripples laughed against the 
hard sands when Pernilla was married 
on the island. 


Brave as she was, Pernilla did not 
venture to wear her white dress to 
church the next Sunday, and appeased 
John Erick's clamor by promising to 
put it on at home as often as he wanted. 

Half the young folks of the settle- 
ment were waiting at the church door 
for a glimpse of the newly-married 
pair, and a row of homespun swains 
roosting ort the hitching-rails, formed 
the first line of pickets. Having passed 
these with due and proper greetings 
for one and all, and once inside the 
queer little church, they parted, for 
the modern anomaly of men and 
women sitting together was then un- 
known in Swede Creek, and is, indeed, 
yet. Pernilla went to the familiar 
place by her mother, while John Erick 
found a seat among the uncouth-look- 
ing men, most of whom looked very 
unkempt indeed, with long hair crop- 
ped off square at the coat collar. 

The pink and purple sunbonnets and 
gingham-caped shakers on the women's 
side were, on this very day, the source 
of no small annoyance to many females 
in the back part of the house, who 
in vain stretched and peered among 
their ranks and files to get an eye on 
Pernilla's hat. 

They were singing the last hymn, 
and no one knew this was to be the 
most memorable service ever held in 
the Swede Creek log-church. The 
fragrant, drowsy June air was heavy 
with bridal loveliness, and the breezes, 
sweet comment on the prime of the 
year, rustled the hymn books. During 
the last lines of the hymn Rozina arose 
from her seat and walked firmly, un- 
hesitating^ forward to the altar steps, 
ascended them, and in a few seconds 
stood by the pulpit. 

Minister and people were stricken 
with amazement. The song died in the 
middle of a verse. Some stood on 
seats next the door. Mrs. Rosengren 
grasped Pernilla's arm and stared at 
Rozina. John Erick trembled violently 
as he hid his face in his hands. He 
wondered what she would do next. 
He was afraid of that girl. Expectant 
silence reigned. 

She was talking to the minister, who 
gazed at her in dumb consternation, 
and Pernilla saw her little golden head 
against his black gown. Turning to 
the people, they saw she intended to 
speak, but courage failed her. She 



closed her eyes an instant, then sum- 
moning all her strength, took a step 
forward and spoke. The vision of that 
slim girl up there by the minister made 
the people hold their breath, while her 
pale face and moving lips brought tears 
to more than one, for her voice reached 
only the first few seats. But her folks 
heard every word — words that would 
nevermore be silent. Rosengren rose 
in his seat, leaning toward the pulpit as 
one enchanted. She spoke in English, 
which made it more startling in that 
place, and this is what she said: 

"I took the money. I stole it. John 
Erick Peterson knows nothing about 
it. I did it — I did it. I want you all 
to know it — " 

She faltered, swayed as if to fall, 
but spoke, though only the clergyman 
caught her last words, which she 
uttered quickly, turning to him with 
little eager motions, as if she felt she 
could not make herself heard. 

Then, clasping her hands on her 
breast, she uttered a cry of pain. The 
people pressed forward in wonder and 
in sympathy. White as death she lay, 
and from her mouth came drops of 

Her father took her in his arms and 
bore her to the wagon. She moaned 
and with great effort begged, in a 
whisper, to be taken to Pernilla's new 
house. This was not a time to con- 
sider feuds, and the whole Rosengren 
family gathered in the little two-room 
frame cottage, and Rozina was laid on 
Pernilla's bed. Toward dusk she fell 
asleep. Then John Erick took Per- 
nilla out to a bench under a mountain 
ash and told her all he knew — told 
it tenderly and with tears in his voice. 

On leaving them the night the money 
was taken, he had, before going home, 
gone up the valley to the nearest neigh- 
bor, and on returning past the Ros- 
engren house, within half an hour, had 
taken a short cut behind the barn. 
Hurrying along, he spied Rozina not 
far from him, but on calling her, she 
crouched as if to hide, and an instant 
after ran off without a word. He 
thought it strange, but suspected a 
joke of some kind, and turned to go 

into the house to ferret her out, but 
changed his mind. When the theft 
was discovered and he was arrested, 
and Rozina in her testimony said noth- 
ing about having seen him (he said 
nothing of it either), he felt sure she 
had hidden the money to make trouble 
for him. 

Pernilla listened as in a dream to 
this enigma, finally asking: 

"But why should she? Why?" 

In answer he told of the February 
morning in the bottomlands, and all 
Rozina's wild words; upon which Per- 
nilla burst into tears, sobbing: 

"Poor Rozina! poor Rozina! 
seems wrong for me to have you." 

That night Rozina would have Per- 
nilla sleep with her. She was quite 
free from pain, and asked questions at 
long intervals, keeping her arm thrown 
over Pernilla. 

"Pernilla," she would whisper, as 
often as her sister lay very still, "don't 
go to sleep yet." 

"Now, Pernilla, tell me 'bout your 
weddin' again — the ride, the island.' 
And eagerly she would listen to the 

"You said there was flowers?" 

"Yes; tall bushes, snow-white, all 
over the woods; right by me, too." 

"White flowers by you? How 
pretty? Was it near the river?" 

"Right near it — under a big tree. 
Just a lovely place," said Pernilla. 

"And was there Injuns — did you 

"True, yes; there was Injuns at my 

"Not near you — was they?" 

"No, 'way off in the woods." 

"Pernilla, you're married now, ain't 

"Yes, dearie." Long silence. 

"Pernilla, you know I like him?" 

"There's a good girl, Rozina; you 
go to sleep now; don't talk about it 

"Yes, now. I liked him, did he tell 

"Yes. dearie." 

"When? I want to know when," 
she said, excitedly, to Pernilla's great 
fear as to the result. 



"Oh, Rozina, don't take it hard; do 
go to sleep a little bit. When you get 
well we can talk it over." 

"I ain't never goin' to get well. 
When did John Erick tell you?" 

"He told me this afternoon." 

"This here afternoon?" cried the 
sick girl. "Do you mean to say he 
never said nothin' before?" 

"Not a word, Rozina. Don't cry." 

But she cuddled into Pernilla's arms 
like a bird and asked no more ques- 
tions, only sobbed once or twice: 

"Wish I had some of them white 
flowers from the island." 

"Don't you hate me, John Erick?" 
was her greeting, as he came to her 
bedside in the morning. 

"Hush, Rozy, you must be good." 
Her great dark eyes were fixed on him. 

"John Erick, I wish — Oh, I can't 
ask it." 

"Yes, yes, Rozina, anything." 

"I'd like some of them white flowers 
from the island. Pernilla says it was 
all white over there." 

"Why, if that's all, I'll ride over the 
ferry and get all you want," he an- 

"I'd love 'em so," was all she said. 

So, after dinner, John Erick rode off 
after white flowers. Rozina's love of 
flowers was a passion, and was con- 
sidered from her early childhood as a 
peculiarity by her folks. When all 
the old women, on Sunday morning, 
reverently carried into church two 
leaves of rosemary, and a sprig of old- 
man, she would, all unabashed, gather 
a handful of the showiest flowers to 
be found, golden lady-slippers or fra- 
grant water-lilies, often to her mother's 
discomfort, for only rosemary and old- 
man seemed orthodox. And no sooner 
had John Erick gone off than she teazed 
for her white dress. This seemed a 

wild whim, but in vain they tried to 
dissuade her. 

"I finished mine, too, Pernilla, after 
you left home, and I want it on a little 
while, just a little while, Pernilla." 

So they put it on, but the effort ex- 
hausted her; and as her father knelt in 
anguish by the bed, she was too weak 
to open her eyes. She was following 
John Erick's ride. She seemed to be 
with him — the landing, the ferry-boat, 
the slow journey over the river, then 
the island. Under the very tree she 
thought she stood, and he. Now he 
was coming back. 

"Has he come yet?" 

"Pretty soon, Rozy," was the an- 
swer, many times. 

The clatter of hoofs, and John Erick 
rode by the window with an armful 
of snowy branches. 

"There he is, there he is," cried the 
sick girl, raising herself to look out. 

Pernilla broke a handful of sprays 
from the delicate, faintly fragrant 
spiraea and brought them to Rozina, 
who took them, eagerly, whispering: 

"Did he bring them from the island? 
Be them from the island?" 

John Erick stood in the doorway, 
fumbling a branch, and tears shone in 
his eyes as Rozina turned her grate- 
ful look on him and touched her lips 
to the flowers, repeating: 

"Pernilla, be them the kind? Be 
them from the island?" 

The excitement was too much. A 
fit of coughing came on, and as she 
lay back after the struggle, she weakly 
lifted the white flowers from the is- 
land to her sweet, tired face. 

And with this, her last movement, 
she fell asleep — fell asleep and died in 
the June afternoon, with the feathery 
blossoms quivering in her last flutter- 
ing breath. 

Switzerland.- Ill 


THERE were times when I thought 
there were scarcely any birds in 
Switzerland but a visit to a most 
excellent and complete Natural History 
Museum showed specimens of almost 
every bird I had ever heard of. I saw 
there a stuffed specimen of an eagle 
to which the American bird of which 
we are so proud would stand no sort 
of a comparison. He would be eaten 
up by its gigantic rival in the short 
hours of one afternoon. Beside the dead 
and dried specimens shown in the 
museum and the fact that late in Septem- 
ber I did see flocks of small birds which 
I thought might count of individuals as 
many as ten thousand, I still feel that 
the number of birds I saw was very 
small. There was the sociable and 
everlasting sparrow in the streets and 
roads. Now and then a few swallows 
would be seen — only a few. Once, and 
only once, I saw a hawk. A few crows 
were seen from time to time and once, 
at a height of more than ten thousand 
feet, there were great flocks of black 
birds that might be crows, but seemed 
something smaller, that appeared to 
have dwellings in the crevice of a rocky 
cliff near at hand. In the lakes wild 
ducks swim about unmolested, gulls 

abound and so do swans, especially 
about the Lake of Geneva. Doubtless 
Switzerland is within the line of migra- 
tion for numberless birds, but apparently 
it is not the permanent residence of a 
very large number. It has nothing to 
take the place of the sociable robin red- 
breast that has so warm a place in the 
affections of the people of New Hamp- 
shire that even the most thoughtless 
boy with a gun would never consent to 
shoot one, no matter how temptingly he 
might invite his fate. 

The national hero of Switzerland was 
William Tell. To New Hampshire John 
Stark stands in that position. No school 
boy reads of Switzerland without calling 
to mind the archer, the apple, the boy 
and the concealed arrow with which 
Tell was, as he said to the Austrian 
Gessler, " to have slain the tyrant had 
I killed my boy." Stark is also remem- 
bered by the sentence in which he ex- 
pressed the statement that he should 
conquer his opponent on that eventful 
day at Bennington "Or Moll Stark 'ill 
be a widder." His resolution would not 
seem to have been overstrained if we 
remember that he had at command five 
hardy frontiers-men for every British 
or Hessian soldier opposed to him on that 





occasion, but that fact still fails to let 
the good General fall so low as has come 
to William Tell, for it now seems to be 
fully established that, like the famous 
Mrs. Harris created by the imagination 
of Dickens, there never was any such 
person. Schiller gave life to Tell by 
placing him in his tragedy which almost 
might have happened to Rolla the 
Peruvian, had the drama in which he 
figured become only a little more famous 

than it actually did. Byron, by his 
poem, has made the Castle of Chillon 
known to everybody. Rousseau was a 
Swiss by birth, so too were Madame de 
Stael, Zwingli, the Reformer, and our 
own Agassiz. It became the adopted 
home of John Calvin, of Voltaire and for 
a long time of Gibbon, the historian of 
The Decline and Fall of the Roman 

New Hampshire has not produced 



many persons whose fame is world wide, 
and few of her own people know that 
Count Rumford, whose reputation in 
some respects stands side by side with 
Franklin's, although not a native of New 
Hampshire, resided there for some time, 
and when offered a patent of nobility 
by the ruler of Bavaria chose to be 
designated as Rumford, that being the 
name of the New Hampshire town 
where he had had a home, the same that 
is the capital of the State and now called 

The Swiss having shown a sturdy 
intention to govern themselves and 
manage their own affairs, and a capacity 
for doing so, and their country being one 
not to be easily overrun by hostile 
armies, it has been permitted to exist 
in a condition of neutrality and independ- 
ence for the past seven hundred years. 
It seems to be a sort of neutral ground 
where the difficulties of other nations 
may be discussed and arranged. It was 
at Geneva that the high joint commission 
representing the governments of the 
United States and Great Britain met 
and arrived at the settlement of a 
threatening cause of war arising out of the 
depredations during our Civil War made 
by the British-built privateer Alabama, 
in consideration for which the British 
government paid over to us the very 
respectable sum of fifteen million dollars. 
It was in Switzerland that the arrange- 
ments by which the affairs of the Inter- 
national Postal Union were arrived at, 
and that matter is still presided over 
by an ex-President of the Swiss Republic. 

Of all the flags of all the nations there 
is not one more noticeable or of seemingly 
better chosen design than that of the 
Swiss. It was originally the Coat of 
Arms of one of the oldest Cantons and 
consists of a white cross of peculiar 
construction on a red background. Take 
one of Huyler's excellent caramels, lay 
it down squarely on a piece of paper, 
then add another to the top side, another 
at the bottom, another to the right and a 
fourth at the left and you have a tolerable 
representation, in bas relief, of the Swiss 
Cross. Some years ago when representa- 
tives of various nations agreed upon 
certain rules for the better care of the 
injured in the casualties of war, the 

emblem of the Society then formed was 
the Swiss Cross with colors reversed, a 
red cross on a white background, and as 
such is now well known to the people of 
all civilized nations. Many matters of 
international moment are adjusted in 
Switzerland and quite a number of socie- 
ties or associations having such in charge 
maintain permanent offices at Berne, 
the Swiss capital. 

There are no orders of nobility in 
Switzerland and no flaunting of riches. 
Fashion fails to exert the influence it 
possesses elsewhere. There are families 
with pedigrees longer than those of 
many royal houses, and quite as respect- 
able and their members are not uncon- 
scious of the fact but it does not weigh 
upon them and they are at no trouble 
to proclaim it. There is wealth, plenty 
of it, and it is made use of in every 
sensible way, but without any vaunting 
display or any I am better than you 
manner. If you see a woman with a 
hundred and fifty dollars of ostrich 
plumes on her hat, and a different one 
to match the color of every gown, or 
advertising a blighted affection by carry- 
ing a poodle dog about in her arms, she 
is not a Swiss. Maybe the tourist is the 
greatest source of the national prosperity 
to-day and as such his value is recognized, 
and he is cared for with every regard for 
his material well-being and convenience, 
but is not stared at or importuned or 
robbed or swindled. 

The excellence, the exquisite cleanli- 
ness and substantial elegance of the Swiss 
hotels is a matter that excites universal 
admiration. The Swiss excel as hotel 
keepers and as such are famous all the 
world over. There are different scales 
of prices for varying accommodations 
and a sliding scale for various seasons, 
consequently a certain amount of bar- 
gaining is requisite, but even without that 
the charges are certain to be no more than 
reasonable for the service given and the 
service is the best to be had anywhere. 
If you are away at mealtime that meal 
is not charged for in your bill; and 
although every servant who renders a 
service expects a tip when your stay is 
ended, he is content to await the time 
of your departure before receiving it 
and the amount required to satisfy the 



multitudinous demands of this sort are 
actually less than the visitor at a White 
Mountain resort will find it wise to 
dispense if he wish the employees to be 
alive to his needs. 

It is absolutely wonderful how full 
the country is of people. There are 
tourists everywhere and in crowds. 
They walk, they ride on bicycles, in 
automobiles, diligences, landaus, vic- 
torias. Go where you may you are never 
out of sight of them. This gives a sort 
of Coney Island or country fair character 
to it all. At the more popular hotels 
evening dress prevails. At one, on one 
occasion, I was to leave by an early 
train and being packed up to be in 
readiness, went to the dining-room wear- 
ing a sack coat and four-in-hand tie 

and became conscious that out of more 
than six dozen men in the room I was the 
only one not appearing in evening dress. 
This is by no means the case at all 
resorts but is sufficiently so to make it 
certain that those who wish to carry 
about with them wardrobes extensive 
and expensive will find opportunity 
to display their possessions, and doubtless 
to come in contact with others who have 
more and better. It must not be under- 
stood from this, however, that one may 
not go about with an extremely modest 
outfit whether man or woman, but in 
such cases maybe it would be pleasanter 
to seek accommodations at houses of 
not the most pretentious sort. There are 
a plenty of such and they are very good 



I dreamed of home last night; 

The city walls 

Fell outward and let in the summer air; 

The shining fields grew clear, and by a hill 

I saw the cottage where my mother sat 

And plied her humble tasks of long ago. 

The streamlet ran 

Through green hay meadows, and I heard the call, 

The cheering call of toilers coming in; 

And saw them take their places, one by one, 

Before the modest fare that closed the day. 

The supper ended and my father took 
His heavy pipe, and lighted up the dusk 
With clouds that floated in the moonlit space ; 
My sister came; and her fair, girlish friend — 
My dear sweet Alice of that schoolday time — 
Made one of that strong group now grown to wear 
The garb that mantles heroes of the past, 
And that tradition fashions for her own. 

I yearned — I spoke — I heard my mother's cry — 

I dreamed of home last night ! 

Science and Agriculture 


THE publicity given in recent 
years to the experiments in 
plant breeding by the "Wizard" 
Luther Burbank and a few others has 
emphasized the importance of this 
branch of horticulture, but it has also 
cast in the shadow the labors of the 
pioneers in this 
fascinating realm , ¥ ,_ 
of science. 

Men like Fran- 
cis Parkman, Asa 
Gray, Kirtland, 
Hovey, Rogers 
and Pringle were 
better known to 
our grandfathers 
than to the youn- 
ger generation, al- 
though to them 
and their contem- 
poraries are due 
the painstaking 
research, the grop- 
i n g experiments 
and the indefati- 
gable labor that 
made possible in a 
large measure the 
wonderful results 
which the news- 
papers and maga- 
zines attribute to 
these latter-day 

Parkman and 
Gray and most of 
the others, except 
from among us. A 
man, with an indomitable will and 
great vigor of mind and body, Cyrus 
W. Pringle is, perhaps, the greatest 
living scientist in this sphere to-day. 
Mr. Pringle is seventy-one years old 
and yet his step is as light and his en- 

Pringee's Defiance wheat 

Pringle, are gone 
quiet, unassuming 

thusiasm as keen as when he began 
collecting and hybridizing plants and 
flowers fifty years ago, on his small 
home farm in the beautiful valley town 
of Charlotte, Vermont. "The name of 
Pringle is a passport into the most 
hidden recesses of the scientific world 
o f three conti- 
nents," says an 
enthusiastic ad- 
mirer of the great 
scientist, and the 
expression is but 
the truth. 

The life of Mr. 
Pringle reads as 
interesting as a 
romance. He was 
born in Charlotte, 
Vt., in 1838. His 
grandfather had 
been a botanist of 
some note, and 
his father, George 
Pringle, was al- 
ways interested in 
botany and horti- 
culture. The Prin- 
gles ran a small 
farm and raised 
garden truck be- 
ll sides doing a little 
something in the 
line of propagat- 
ing shrubs and 
nursery stock. 
Young Pringle 
thus early acquired a rudimentary 
knowledge of this sort of work and he 
loved to be employed among the plants, 
flowers and grains. At that time the 
possibilities of plant breeding were 
practically unknown — in this country, 
at least — and Mr. Pringle, in his early 
experiments, groped in darkness which 





Cyrus S. Pringle, naturalist 

was unlighted by rays of early achieve- 
ment. His father died when he was 
but a youngster, and Cyrus worked dur- 
ing the day at his favorite occupation 
and read and studied at night. He 
mastered the rudiments of Greek and 
Latin while a mere boy and matricu- 
lated at the University of Vermont. 
The death of his brother at this time, 
however, interfered with his plans 
to go to college and imposed upon him 
the care of his mother and the re- 
sponsibilities of the home farm. He 
manfully took up this work with all 

the enthusiasm of his nature and with 
the desires and tastes of a scholar, striv- 
ing to realize high ideals in agricul- 
ture and horticulture. He began the 
study of plant breeding early in his 
career and conducted experiments in 
hybridizing along original lines with 
encouraging success. So enthusiastic 
was he that in order to be able to read 
French books on hybridizing plants he 
mastered the language and spent all his 
spare money in the purchase of such 
books as he could acquire. He also 
read everything he could lay his hands 



on pertaining to the subject in English, 
which in those early days was meagre 
enough. He scraped together enough 
money to journey to Boston to visit 
Francis Parkman, about whose experi- 
ments in flower culture he had read. 
He interviewed Kirtland in Cleveland, 
Ohio, and corresponded with other 
scientists of the period. 

All this was laying the foundation 
for a knowledge that materially assisted 

New Hampshire farmers. They at- 
tended a lecture delivered by Mr. Prin- 
gle, one day, and heard, with wonder, 
some of the results that the young in- 
vestigator had gained in his experi- 
ments in plant hybridizing. They 
secured an inkling as to the possibili- 
ties inherent in this new science. Sub- 
sequent developments showed that 
they as well as others profited greatly 
from the knowledge thus gained. 


in his later and more notable experi- 
ments. The little Pringle farm soon 
became the mecca for scientists and 
investigators from all parts of the 
country. Mr. Pringle showed what he 
had accomplished. His enthusiasm 
was contagious. He subsequently 
went about the state giving lectures be- 
fore farmers' institutes to awaken in- 
terest in his chosen work. 

The Burbanks at that time were 

Mr. Pringle's first work in hybridiz 
ing was performed with potatoes on 
his home farm. He crossed the Early 
Rose, a standard Vermont grown po- 
tato, with pollen from the White Peach- 
blow, the Excelsior and the Black 
Mercer. The progeny from these 
crosses gave him the Snowflake, the 
Alpha and the Ruby, all excellent 
tubers, but with Snowflake the results 
were exceptional. Seed from this 



l :., 

PRINGIvK'S champion wheat 

variety he disposed of at the rate of 
a thousand dollars a pound for several 

Mr. Pringle, in 1870, turned his at- 
tention to the hybridizing of the cereals 
and in this line of work enjoys the 
distinction of being the pioneer in 
America. His Defiance wheat for 
many years has been the staple pro- 
ducts of some of the larger wheat 

fields in the West. Mr. Pringle also 
experimented extensively and with 
great success in developing oats, to- 
matoes and fruits, particularly cur- 
rants, grapes and tree fruits. Mr. 
Pringle is given the credit for being 
the originator of the hulless oat which 
made possible Quaker Oats and other 
cereal products. 

It was in 1874 that Mr. Pringle, now 



thoroughly infatuated with his work, 
began the collection of plants. Dur- 
ing the first season he gathered to- 
gether about four hundred specimens 
of common and uncommon plants, 
most of them in the vicinity of his 
own home. 

This was followed by the explora- 
tion of Mount Mansfield, Smuggler's 

ern Canada. He was still a young 
man and the country was wild and 
sparsely settled. His early experience 
had taught himself reliance, however, 
and undaunted even by the doleful pre- 
dictions of friends and neighbors who 
had gathered on the banks of the little 
river La Platte, in Shelburne, to see 
him, in company with Mr. Horsford, 



Mr. Pringee and his Mexican guide. 

Notch and Camel's Hump, of the 
Green Mountain range. Soon after 
this, in company of a neighbor and 
fellow botanist, Fred Horsford, and 
two companions from Boston, he tra- 
versed the White Mountains for spec- 
imens of Flora, with increasing suc- 

His next venture was to undertake 
the classification of the flora of East- 

himself a youth, embark in a light 
bark canoe for the long trip to Canada, 
via Lake Champlain and the river St. 
Lawrence. The initial trip was full of 
peril and hardship, one that might have 
quelled much hardier spirits than those 
of the two young botanists. Yet they 
kept on their journey until they were 
stopped by impassable barriers of 
forest and turbulent stream, and were 



obliged to turn back and seek easier 
fields to explore. This first journey 
into the wilds of Canada was followed 
by others more successful, until the 
region was thoroughly explored and 
the flora classified. 

Dr.Asa Gray, of Harvard University, 
directed Mr. Pringle in 1885 to ex- 
plore Northern Mexico for flora. Since 
that time Mexico has been the special 
field of investigation for the great 
naturalist, who has made from two to 
four trips to that country every year, 
seldom returning without bringing 
home some rare plants in his knapsack 
hitherto unclassified. Mr. Pringle's 
Herbarium in the Williams Science 
Building of the University of Vermont 
contains about one hundred thousand 
specimens, brought together from all 
parts of the globe. Besides the 
thousands which he himself has col- 
lected, his shelves contain many rare 
and beautiful specimens secured from 
exchanges with other institutions and 
with the leading botanists from the 
four corners of the world. The great 
botanical gardens of London, Paris, 
Berlin, Vienna, Tokyo, Ceylon, New 
Zealand, and others of equal note, have 
contributed to the wealth of scientific 
store which is watched over by Mr, 
Pringle. For some years he has been 
sending out an average of three hun- 
dred species of plants to these herba- 
riums with an exchange of about an 
equal number. The past year he dis- 
tributed about three thousand speci- 

The botanist has spent so many 
summers beneath the sunny skies of 
Mexico that he longs for the time 
when he packs his knapsack and sets 
out (by railway, of course) for that 
country. He is a philosophical trav- 
eller and a delightful companion, al- 
though modest to the point almost 
of diffidence. The position of his as- 
sistant in these trips to Mexico is 
eagerly sought after by young college 
students who recognize the excellent 
opportunity to acquire first-hand 
knowledge of botany. 

Mr. Pringle has become very much 
attached to his Mexican guide and 

companion in these long trips, Filemon 
L. Lozano. For years this educated 
and highly intelligent native has ac- 
companied the botanist on his explora- 
tions and much of the success attained 
in his work there is due to Senor 
Lozano and to other assistants. 

Having pretty effectually covered the 
field of Mexican phanerogams, concern- 
ing which he is a leading authority, 
Mr. Pringle has turned especially to 
the collection of cryptograms. 

He has for several years been official 
collector for the Mexican Government, 
has put the National Herbarium upon 
a scientific basis and has been active 
in developing Mexican fibre plants. 

Among the scores of young men who 
have been fortunate enough to have 
accompanied Mr. Pringle to Mexico' 
during the past twenty-five years may 
be counted James A. Kelley, now a 
well-known merchant of Burlington; 
Charles Hammond and Judd Williams, 
also of that city; John H. McGlashan, 
of Michigan, and B. W. Estey, of Lin- 
coln, Vermont. 

Mr. Pringle has been honored by the 
University of Vermont with the de- 
grees of Master of Arts and Doctor of 
Science. He is an associate member of 
the American Academy of Arts and 
Sciences, member of the Mexican 
Government and official collector for 
the country; member of Massachusetts 
Horticultural Society, and the Ver- 
mont Horticultural Society, etc. 

During all these years Mr. Pringle 
has kept a complete daily journal, 
which it is to be hoped may be pub- 
lished some day in the interest of 
science. His collection of autograph 
letters from noted scientists is also 
valuable, indeed. 

And above all, this quiet, kindly man 
still maintains his lofty ideals and his 
trusting simple faith in humanity that 
is, in part, a legacy from his mother 
and also from his early associations 
with a Quaker community within the 
borders of his home town. When not 
in Mexico he resides in Burlington, liv- 
ing close to his priceless treasure of 
leaf and frond and twig, gathered from 
almost every land under the sun. 

Wanted— A Peacemaker 


A GIRL descended the steps of the 
Holland House, bound for a 
walk up the avenue. She 
carried herself with an ease and assur- 
ance that came, partly from a knowl- 
edge of being properly gowned, partly 
from an innate self-sufficiency. She 
wore a large bunch of violets at her 

Just as she reached the sidewalk she 
saw a man she knew, and she stepped 
forward, eagerly to greet him. The 
man was apparently about twenty-five 
years of age. He had a pleasantly 
keen face, just then a little sober. 
His clothes were of a correct style and 
cut, but suggested somehow the lack 
of a tailor's recent attention. But, in 
spite of a certain lack of spruceness, 
the young man conveyed the impres- 
sion of being well conditioned. 

"Jack," called the girl, for he had 
passed without seeing her. When he 
did see her his face also lighted eager- 
ly; then a doubtful look crossed it. 
The girl gave him both hands. 

"Jack !" she said, "I'm so glad. Who- 
ever thought of meeting you here in 
New York." 

"Same here, Dorothy. What are 
you doing in this gay metropolis?" 

She regarded him saucily, as she an- 
swered, "Just now I am going to let 
a man I know take me to luncheon, if 
you know anyone who is hungering 
for that privilege — and lunch. Mother's 
gone off with cousin Clara, heaven 
only knows where, so I am left to 
my own resources. How do you like 
being a resource, Jack?" she laughed 

But her frank friendliness seemed 
to embarrass him, and for a second a 
doubt intruded itself on her. Could 
she have mistaken the terms of her 
intimacy with this young man? No, 

not that. To misunderstand Jack was 
to confuse one of the primal elements 
of life. 

Jack gazed troubledly up the avenue 
a moment before he said: "Dorothy, 
rather than have you think me abso- 
lutely a cad, I am going to tell you the 
plain facts." 

She laughed incredulously, but there 
was a suggestion of distance to her 
little nod of acquiescence. 

"I don't want you to think I 
shouldn't be awfully glad of the 
chance of lunching with you. It would 
be just like — I rather do that than any- 
thing I can think of, just now. But — | 
he hesitated, as though not quite sure 
of what he wanted to say. She gave 
him no help. "The truth of the matter 
is that — if I lunch with you to-day, I 
shall probably not be able to lunch at 
all to-morrow." 

"Jack, what has happened," broke 
from the girl. "Have you done some- 
thing foolish? Oh, come inside where 
we can talk." 

She led the way into the hotel, and 
found seats away from, the crowd who 
filled the place. Then she laughed a 
little over her own relief in finding 
Jack still Jack, as far as she was con- 

"Now, tell me all about it?" she de- 
manded. "Have you been more foolish 
than usual, and what do you mean 
about not having money? What are 
you doing in New York, and how long 
have you been here, to begin with?" 

Jack nailed the last question as it 
flew past. "I've been here about a 
month and I'm learning the newspaper 


"Well, that's all. I'm still learning." 

"But why haven't you money," she 




"I didn't exactly mean that — the 
penniless in a great city sort of thing, 
you know. I'm earning a living, but 
the living doesn't include the Holland 
House. You see, at first, I didn't 
know much about economizing, I sup- 
pose — anyway, I ran up some bills for 
rent and things, } r ou know, before I 
had figured up just how I was going 
to come out. Then I got rather short. 
I didn't like to ask for my salary ahead 
of pay-day, so the last few days I have 
been leading a truly lenten life. Now, 
I'm keeping bachelor apartments in 
what is known as the hall bedroom." 

"That means you've half starved 

"No, it doesn't mean anything so 
foolish. You've no notion, Dorothy, 
how much food you can get for a 
quarter in New York. Honest," for 
she was regarding him pityingly. 

"Why didn't you write home for 
money?" An attempt to put a "you 
deserve anything you've got" tone into 
the question was not successful. Vis- 
ions of Jack, a hungry Jack, walking 
the streets of an unsympathetic metro- 
polis filled her thoughts. 

"Well, to tell the truth, Dorothy, 
father and I had some words when I 
announced my intention of being a 
newspaper man. He wants me to go 
into the factory and learn his business. 
Besides, he says there is nothing in 
the newspaper business for a gentle- 
man, anyway. You know father?" 

"Your father, Jack, is a very fine 
gentleman. He's always been sort 
of an ideal to me — every thing that's 
strong and honorable, and old-fash- 
ioned, you know." 

"He's all that," agreed Jack, heart- 
ily, "But — I don't think it has ever 
occurred to him that he might be in 
the wrong." 

"Well, go on. What did your 
mother say?" 

"Mother was fine, as usual. She did 
say she didn't think a reporter could 
be very respectable, always poking 
into other people's business. But after 
I had told her Dickens and Kipling 
had both been reporters she felt better 
about it. I think she was inclined to 

pacify father, but father had 'washed 
his hands of the business, supposed 
I would follow my own inclinations,' 
and, — slammed the door. I watched 
him going down to play bridge with 
his pals at the 'Commuters,' six feet 
and a couple, of finality." He stopped. 

"Well, what next?" said Dorothy. 

"Then I came to New York and 
got a job. Now tell me about your- 

She rose. 

"First, Jack, you'll stay to lunch 
with me." 

"I can't, really, I must be at the 
office in a few minutes." 

"To dinner then, this evening?" 

"About that time I shall probably 
be reporting the martial troubles of 
Mrs. Casey or some one else whose 
affairs have required the attention of 
the police." 

"Jack, they don't send you to write 
about such things?" 

"They did, but my city editor said 
he could not continue to do so unless 
I could be more accurate." 

"More accurate?" 

"Yes, I reported that Mrs. Holloran, 
important through having pushed an 
Italian woman off the fire-escape, was 
a laundress, whereas she is really the 
janitoress of a lodge-room." 

"And she was offended?" 

"Naturally." They both laughed. 
Then she repeated. 

"You'll come to dinner, Jack?" 

"No. Now, please now don't spoil 
the only glimpse of — I'd say fairyland 
if you weren't so confoundedly quick 
to score anything soft — or foolish. Oh, 
I like it; it adds to your — well never 

She giggled because she saw he was 
really afraid of her. 

"I wish you would come to dinner, 

"No — you've probably got an en- 
gagement anyway with someone else." 

"I haven't. I'll sit and hate myself 
in that sumptuous sitting-room they 
gave us. You ought to see it ; it makes 
ours at home look plain." 

"Does anyone know you're in town, 



"There's the hotel clerk." 

"Any of your friends, I mean." 

"A few," she admitted. 

"And yet you were going to spend the 
evening alone. How about mother?" 

"Mother, I expect will stay up town 
Cousin Clara has hosts of friends in 
New York." 

"And you don't expect anyone to 

She changed color a little but looked 
him straight in the eye, as she said: 

"I have no engagement." 

"Then if you would really like to 
see me I think I can get off this 
evening — about nine o'clock, say. I 
can't tell you how much I'd like to 
come. It's the first real pleasant pros- 
pect I have had for a month." He held 
out his hand. 

"Don't bother to dress up. Jack. 
I'm going to get mother off early, if 
she comes back at all. We'll have the 
evening to ourselves." 

"That means you think I may have 
pawned my evening clothes, but I 
haven't. They're all that stands be- 
tween me and 'disrespectability' as 
Mulvaney says. I put them on one 
night when I wasn't working, just to 
feel dressed up again." 

"You poor boy;" and her eyes were 
very bright. 

"You know, Jack, father has always 
said he would give you a job if you 
wanted it." 

"Does your father happen to own a 

"Not that I know of. Why?" 

"I don't wonder you're not sure, 
when I consider what the local paper 
called, 'the multifarious interests of 
this modern Midas,' " laughed Jack. 
Then slowly, as though giving voice to 
a revelation: 

"Dorothy, there is one job within 
your father's gift that I'd like, and if 
my affairs ever get into shape again, 
I'm going to ask for it, too." 

Dorothy said good-bye and escaped 
inside, very short of breath. 

"Gracious !" she said to herself, 
"That couldn't have been Jack." 

She ate her lunch leisurely, indulg- 

ing in several things her mother! 
taboed as foolishly expensive. Theuj 
she went to the telephone in response 
to a call, and turned down a well- 
dressed, well-groomed, young man at| 
the other end of the line. The young 
man's offense consisted in being well 
dressed — she knew it without seeing — j 
at this particular moment, when her 
thoughts were full of Jack's fancied 
discomforts. He was not an offen- 
sively rich young man. He had not 
even profited through questionable 
practices. He had simply been cast 
for the villian of the piece. 

The injustice of the proceeding evi- 
dently did not trouble Dorothy much, 
for she came out of the booth hum- 
ming happily to herself. Later she 
had to go to the telephone again. It 
was her mother this time. 

"Dorothy, dear," came the voice. 
"Clara thinks perhaps we had better 
stay up town for dinner. The Clares 
have asked us." 


"Mr. Carter is calling this evening, 
isn't he, dear?" 

"He is not." 

"Why, he told me — " 

"He was mistaken," said Dorothy 
shortly. "But don't worry about me, 
mother. I shall be well taken care 

"Why, who's coming?" the maternal 
inquiry showed curiosity anyway. 

"Jack Braydon is coming." 

"What, Jack in New York! How 
nice, Dorothy. Now I shall feel entirely 
comfortable about you." She breathed 
a sigh of relief into the telephone. 
She liked things comfortable, but be- 
tween Dorothy and Clara, two very 
decided natures, that result was not 
always easy of accomplishment. 

Dorothy hung up and started for 
the elevator; it was time to dress. She 
stopped suddenly because a tall man 
had placed both hands on her shoul- 
ders, a very tall man with keen, gray 
eyes, bristling gray eyebrows and a 
gray moustache that turned up fiercelv. 

"Dorothy, child, what are you do- 
ing here? Don't try to deceive me 
now, you can't do it. No one can," 



and he bent a fierce frown on her, or 
one that would have been fierce had 
it not been for the kindly gleam in the 
gray eyes. 

Dorothy said, "Oh." The man was 
Jack's father and Jack would be back 
at nine o'clock. The prospect of a 
meeting made her nervous, for a meet- 
ing between Colonel Braydon and any 
one by whom the Colonel considered 
himself wronged was always fraught 
with dynamic possibilities, especially 
when that one was his son Jack. 

"Startled, hey? you don't look it. 
But whom are you with, child. You're 
not here alone, I presume. Though, 
'pon my word, the way women go now- 
a-days I shouldn't be a bit surprised, 
not a bit," and the Colonel slapped the 
office desk sharply. 

"No," said Dorothy, "I'm with 
mother, — ostensibly. Really, mother 
and cousin Clara go gadding all over 
town by themselves, and I've been left 
to the care of anyone who happens 
along. I suppose you will have to 
look after me now. I've no one to dine 
with to-night." 

The gray head inclined in a courtly 

"Madame," said the Colonel. 
"You're treating the privilege as an 
obligation, enhances its value. But I'm 
surprised some young Jackanapes isn't 
here, to dispute it with me. How'd it 
happen, hey? My boy, Jack says — " 

He turned and spoke sharply to a 
bell boy. 

"Here boy — that bag there and my 
key," then to Dorothy: "I've got to go 
down town now, but I shall expect 
you to be ready to dine at 6.30 sharp. 
Remember that, young woman, and, 
mind you, no gewgaws — just a plain 
frock — white if you like. I like to see 
girls in white, always did. So does my 
boy, Jack — " he stopped short again, 
and handed her grimly into the ele- 
vator. Then lifted his hat and walked 
briskly to the door. But Dorothy knew 
he was sorely tried as she had seen 
him oftentimes before by his quarrels 
with Jack. 

Precisely at six-thirty Dorothy came 

down stairs to meet the Colonel. Her 
gown met the requirements. It was 
white, and it was simple, with the 
studied simplicity obtained on fifth 
avenue at large prices. Cousin Clara 
called it an extravagance; Colonel 
Braydon thought it a very proper 
frock. He offered his arm with an 
emphatic nod of approval. 

Not a few found it worth while to 
look after them as the waiter bowed 
them to a table. Indeed, they make a 
pleasant picture: the tall straight- 
backed old gentleman in correct even- 
ing attire, and the self-possessed Amer- 
ican girl at his side. 

At table, Dorothy was in her gayest 
mood, engaging her vis-a-vis in the 
kind of railery in which he delighted, 
while pretending to think it the sign 
of a very forward generation. He 
fenced gallantly for a time, but Dor- 
othy knew his cheerfulness was as- 
sumed. She knew, too, with how im- 
penetrable a reserve his pride had al- 
ways shielded his feelings from alien 
eyes. She knew and waited, allow- 
ing him to lead the conversation any- 
where except to the subject nearest 
his heart, his son, Jack. 

Finally, without previous connection, 
he blurted out a gruff inquirv as to 
whether she had heard the latest fool- 
notion that boy had got into his head, 
adding that he supposed the boy was 
in New York. 

"Oh," said Dorothy innocently, "that 
is what brings you to New York, is it 
— to see Jack?" 

The Colonel replied coldly that 
pressing business required his pres- 
ence in the city, that Jack knew where 
he, the Colonel, could always be found 
and that he presumed that when he 
felt a desire to see his parents he would 
come home. This, in a manner, indicat- 
ing that the subject was of only casua' 
interest to him. Dorothy gave him 
all the rope he wanted. The scene 
had features of familiarity to her. 

When the Colonel's cigar came in 
the natural order of things she invited 
him to smoke it in the sitting-room 
upstairs. Once there, she placed him in 
a big chair before the fire-place, turned 



out all but one electric and ensconced 
herself on the arm of the chair. His 
hand closed over hers and they sat in 
soothing quietness for a time. Gradu- 
ally the Colonel lost the half defiant 
attitude he had maintained in the din- 
ing-room. Presently he said : 

"I don't know why it is that boy and 
I cannot get along better — I've never 
crossed him in my life, except for his 
own good. Take this affair now. If 
he wants to take up newspaper work. I 
don't know that I have any serious 
objection. But what does he do? Goes 
flying off the minute I attempt to offer 
him the least advice — " 

"He told me you did the flying off," 
ventured Dorothy. 

"What's that, been whining to you, 
has he?" 

Dorothy stood up. 

"Jack is his father's son," she said 
quietly; "he does not whine to any one. 
He faces the world with a smile, as a 
man should, if he has the courage." 

"Come back, child," said the Colonel. 
"I apologize — to you, and to him. I'm 
a snarling old fool. But this thing has 
cut me up badly, quarrels with Jack 
always do, somehow. I don't mind tell- 
ing you that I haven't had a comfort- 
able day since Jack left home." Dor- 
othy went back to the chair arm. Then 
she said, gently: 

"Colonel, some times I think you 
don't realize that Jack is grown up, 
that he is a strong man, with a strong 
man's will and mind of his own. He 
is rather a masterful man, like his 
father. Is it surprising that he some- 
times finds his father's dominance irk- 

"Do I dominate him?" 

"You dominate every one with 
whom 3'ou come in contact — uncon- 
sciously, perhaps. We like it — women, 
I mean. But a man does not, if he is 
worth much. Now take this news- 
paper plan. You say yourself you had 
no serious objection to his trying it." 


"You simply had other plans for 

"I did " 

"But, don't you see, Colonel, a man 

must live his own life, not the one 
someone else wants him to lead, even 
if the life he chooses does not seem to 
promise so much as the other. Jack 
told me all about it and I think he 
was right, in the main" 

"Child, you are right. I've known 
it all along, but it is hard for me to 
take back water, always was. Now 
tell me why you take so much trouble 
about a crusty old fool — and a head- 
strong young one — hey?" and he 
searched the charming face by the dim 
light Dorothy had provided. 

"Well," said Dorothy coolly; "for 
one thing I like the young one's 

"Don't think much of his father, 
hey?" m m • 

She ignored the interruption. 

"Now, it being settled that you are 
in the wrong, the next thing to con- 
sider is, how you are going about set- 
ting yourself right." 

"What's that? Let the young rascal 
come home and behave himself, and I 
will overlook his misconduct for this 

"The young rascal won't come home. 
He'll starve first. He's half-starved 
now, I think." 

"Nonsense," said the Colonel, so em- 
phatically that she knew the shot had 
gone to a vital place. 

"He knows enough to ask for what 
he wants, I suppose. He's been in con- 
stant communication with his mother; 
I've seen the letters." He did not add 
that he had pointedly ignored their 
presence on the breakfast table twice 
a week for the past month. 

Dorothy made no comment. She was 
allowing the Colonel time to save his 
face. Experience had shown the wis- 
dom of that course. 


Still no comment from Dorothy. 

"What the dickens do you want me 
to do? Hunt all over New York for 
the privilege of apologizing to my own 
boy for not agreeing with every fool- 
notion he takes into his head?" 

The Colonel, having lost the battle, 
was getting back to his customary ex- 
plosive form. 



% 'Yes," insisted Dorothy, recognizing 
the signs of the weather. "That is 
what you came here for, isn't it?" 

"I — what — you want — well, well, as 
matter of fact" — he laughed a little — 
"you see it was this way. Richardson, 
of the Journal, has been after me for 
a long time to buy his assinine sheet. 
Not worth the ink it takes to get the 
thing out, as an investment, but I 
thought if Jack really — 

Dorothy clapped her hands. "Splen- 
did," she cried. "Oh, I wish he'd hurry 
up. What time is it Colonel?" 

'Wish who would hurry up, missy?" 

"Why, Jack, of course. He's com- 
ing at 9 o'clock." 

"Jack, here — I've been trapped." 

"You have, and you don't leave this 
room till you've made up with him, do 
you hear?" 

A knock sounded at the door. Dor- 
othy sprang to open it. 

"Tell him to come right up, quick." 

The bell boy disappeared, and Dor- 
othy stood on guard until Jack ap- 
peared. Meanwhile, the Colonel shook 
himself together, threw away his cigar 
and squared his shoulders. Dorothy 
watched apprehensively; his prepara- 
tions did not look conciliatory. 

Far down the hall the elevator door 
clanged and Jack stepped out, followed 
by the bell boy. When he saw Dor- 
othy framed in the doorway, the boy 
was left behind. 

"You're just in time, Jack," said Dor- 
othy. "Your father and I have been 
waiting for you." 

"What, father! Father, how are 
you ?" 

"I'm well, thank you, sir," said the 
Colonel, shortly. Jack flushed and 
checked a cordial movement in his 
father's direction. Things seemed at 
a standstill, but Dorothy, after her 
labors, had no intention of permitting 
the making-up to miscarry. 

"Jack," exclaimed she, "your father 
has bought the Journal for you to play 
with. Go over and thank him. What 

do you mean by standing there like a 

"What! father, is this true—" 

"Well, you see, son, Richardson is 
tired of running the thing, so I thought 
if you — " 

"Father, it's splendid of you, after 
the way I've acted, too. I feel like a 
— a mucker." They shook hands 

"That's all right," said the Colonel, 
hastily, for Jack was searching for 
words to express himself further. "I 
feel rather like a mucker myself, so 
we'll call it off." 

"I'll bet you had a hand in this, Dor- 
othy. I don't know how to thank you 

"Did she," the Colonel laughed, "she 
was going to keep me on bread and 
water till I apologized. I tell you, 
Jack, we ought to keep this young 
woman around all the time just to 
save us from quarrelling." 

Jack took a big brace. Dorothy's 
hand was near, so he took that, too; it 
seemed to help. 

"Dorothy," he said; "that's what I 
meant yesterday about the job I 
wanted from your father; it's the son- 
in-law iob. Can I have it?" 

"Spoken like a man, sir," cried the 
Colonel, slapping his son on the shoul- 
der. "Now then, mistress Dorothy, 
you've run this affair so far, suppose 
you finish it up. I don't leave this room 
till I hear the answer to that question 
— our question, for I'm interested in 
this, too. We both need you, Dor- 

Thus assailed, Dorothy gave her an- 
swer so quietly and sweetly that the 
Colonel felt a sudden choking sensa- 
tion. He kissed her and escaped, slam- 
ming the door after him. 

What happened behind that door has 
not been recorded, but the Colonel al- 
ways maintains that he made the 
match. And Dorothy lets it go at 

Telling the Good Men Do 


IT is no longer necessary to believe 
that a newspaper — and more espe- 
cially a recently established one — 
must roll in the mire in order to be- 
come popular; must consider crime 
the most important thing in the world 
to gain a large circulation; must dis- 
figure its pages with typographical hor- 
rors to be attractive to the great people 
of a great country, and must howl dem- 
agoguery that it may be considered a 
teacher of the masses. 

"One item of information is worth 
ten comments," wonderful old De 
Blowitz used to say. So one vital ex- 
ample is worth a thousand theories and 
ten thousand sermons. One newspaper 
that stakes its success on the empha- 
sizing of the world's good news instead 
of its evil — and wins — has carried the 
day for journalistic righteousness with- 
out quibble or fear of contradiction. 
That paper exists ; it is "The Christian 
Science Monitor," of Boston, and, in- 
cidentally, of the world. 

When about a year ago the char- 
acteristically quiet announcement was 
made that a daily newspaper was soon 
to be issued from the Christian Science 
publication headquarters, at Falmouth 
and St. Paul streets, veteran journal- 
ists wagged their heads sagely and set- 
tled the matter in short order. The 
paper would "go"— yes, yes, there was 
no doubt about that — it would "go" 
because of the strength of the denomi- 
nation and the numbers of its adher- 
ents. But it could not be a newspaper 
from the very nature of the case; it 
must be a proselyting sheet of little 
interest except to those to whom it 
made its distinctively ethical appeal. 
Thus they said, and doubtless believed. 

But they failed to take into consid- 
eration two things: first, the uncon- 

querable energy of the Christian 
Science folk and, second, their ineradi- 
cable habit of having the best in what- 
ever direction they undertake to go. 
At the suggestion of Mrs. Eddy the 
trustees of the publishing society en- 
tered upon the work of establishing a 
daily paper, and a genuine newspaper 
they produced in every sense of the 
word — except some of the senses that 
could well be spared from the custom- 
ary conception of the term. 

From the very beginning the story 
of "The Christian Science Monitor" is 
remarkable. Seemingly, it required but 
a hint to those in charge of the already 
elaborate publishing plant in Boston, 
and the thing was accomplished. It 
has been told many times with what 
astonishing rapidity the newspaper was 
brought into existence. And yet there 
is in the recital a deal of instruction 
and suggestion, especially to the prac- 
tical newspaper man, who knows that 
the bringing to pass of such things 
takes time, and who now can see and 
appreciate the highly creditable re- 
sults of the undertaking. 

The days of the beginning were typ- 
ical. It was in August, 1908, that the 
first practical steps were taken toward 
the establishing of the Monitor. Noth- 
ing was left to chance — nothing was 
permitted just to happen. At once, 
a thoroughly trained and able news- 
paper man was asked to come to Bos- 
ton to take the helm of this newest 
journalistic bark. On the day he ar- 
rived in town a consultation was held, 
plans were discussed and it was then 
and there decided that to furnish a 
home for the newspaper an addition to 
the existing building was necessary. It 
was determined, also, to issue the first 
number of the paper on November 24th, 



the day before Thanksgiving. The out- 
look would not have been highly sat- 
isfactory to a less sanguine and ener- 
getic body of men. Four apartment 
houses stood on the land that was to 
furnish space for the new building. 
Very well, then, they must go, and at 
once their demolition was begun. Less 
than three months remained for the 
completion of the home for the Mon- 
itor, but by September 16th work on 
its erection was begun. Presses were 
ordered, linotype machines contracted 
for, and all the expensive paraphernalia 

offices on Falmouth Street how the 
great engines of the disseminating of 
news and knowledge were in their 
places in the press room before the 
protecting walls of the building were 
even in existence, and how the linotype 
machines above were actually open to 
the sun and stars for several days be- 
fore they were finally housed. 

Then came the gathering together of 
the staff, made up almost without ex- 
ception of men owing allegiance to 
the faith that had called them to the 
service. It was an exceedingly good 

Christian Science publishing house 

of a newspaper office was purchased 
long in advance of its actual use. 

At times the incompleteness of things 
must have appalled even the ever-con- 
fident trustees and editors. There was 
the matter of the presses, for instance ; 
the company furnishing them had other 
orders far in advance of this demand 
from Boston, but by paying cash down 
the Monitor people were enabled to 
get the great advantage of prompt de- 
livery. And the delivery was prompt, 
for it is still told with pride in the 

staff. That a man was a Christian 
Scientist primarily was not enough to 
insure him a position upon the Mon- 
itor. He must, in addition, be a news- 
paper man of proven worth and known 
ability. It was by adhering to this 
principle that no trace of amateurish- 
ness, no evidence of groping for a 
policy, has ever been discovered in 
the conduct of the Monitor. In just 
that very point the paper put to naught 
the prophecies of the onlooking wise- 
acres; it was from its birth, and is 



In these rooms 



Handling the news 

to-day, a product of practical journal- 
ism and not of enthusiasts with a cult 
to exploit. 

The home of "The Christian Science 
Monitor" as it exists to-day is a highly 
entertaining study for the dyed-in-the- 
wool newspaper man whose early 
training led him to believe that one of 
the cardinal principles of successful 
journalism was the maintaining of a 
villainously untidy office; that the 
ablest newspapers had the dirtiest quar- 
ters ; that hubbub and uproar and the 
wild crash of many noises were abso- 

lutely indispensable to the producing of 
a good daily. 

To be sure the profession as a whole 
is gradually outgrowing that view of 
the case, but it has remained for "The 
Christian Science Monitor" to show the 
world that a progressive, handsome and 
entertaining newspaper may be edited 
under surroundings as tasteful, even 
beautiful, as are those of the highest 
kind of commercial activities. 

The principle that surroundings of 
artistic refinement have their inevitable 
effect upon the mental output of men 



and women is here insisted upon and 
illustrated to the fullest degree. It is 
safe to say that in no newspaper home 
in North America, at least, is there so 
much of acfual beauty, combined with 
a long-thought-of plan of convenience. 
This devotion to sightliness is carried 
out even in the composing room, press 
room and stereotyping room, and in 
no one of them is that heat, gloom or 
squalor that so often marks the ordin- 
ary quarters for the mechanical pro- 
duction of a newspaper. 

A visitor to these model newspaper 
offices — and there are very many of 
them in the course of every working 
day — steps at once into a cool, long 
corridor, marble floored. Upon his 
left are the quarters of the advertising 
and circulation departments, resem- 
bling those of a high-grade bank. On 
the right begins that long series of 
what might well be called "linear con- 
veniences," for here is the beautiful 
room of the Managing Editor, and from 
it in lines, now straight, now radiating 
somewhat, proceed all the other activi- 
ties of the newspaper in regular se- 
quence. It is a wonderful system that 
somebody has evolved for the most ex- 
peditious and easy-running operation of 
a newspaper, and through it all there is 
no noisy confusion, no creaking of un- 
oiled wheels, no shouting, no incense of 
tobacco, no profanity — nothing but the 
orderly running of a newspaper by a 
company of men whose lives are as well 
ordered as their surroundings. 

A tour through the handsome offices 
of the editors of various grades and 
sorts is a liberal education as to the way 
in w'hich the Christian Science folk con- 
duct any enterprise that requires en- 
ergy and ability. Spite of the beautiful 
quarters in which a large part of the 
working force of the Monitor perform 
their daily labors, there is a keen, ting- 
ling something in the air that speaks 
of unremitting diligence in the making 
of the paper. There is no lolling in 
easy chairs, no waste of time in per- 
forming long and needless journeys 
from one department to the other. 
Someone's ingenious mind has- planned 
a newspaper office where the work 

proceeds from one portion of the staff 
to another in a wonderfully rapid and 
convenient way. Labor and time-sav- 
ing devices abound, and the investiga- 
tor who might choose to follow a piece 
of "copy" from typewriter to printed 
impression would see scarcely a break 
in the whole process, so admirably is 
each department dovetailed into the 
other. It is needless to say, of course, 
that the newest and best mechanical 
appliances obtainable in the world are 
used in the making of this newspaper. 

So much for the beautiful and com- 
modious home whence comes this daily 
visitor to so many thousand of other 
homes all over the world. Visually the 
paper itself is as attractive as the place 
where it is made. It is typographically 
artistic and striking without being in 
the least overdone in black-faced em- 
phasis. It is made up with care and 
a decent regard for proportion. Its il- 
lustrations are always well executed, 
and its body type is clear and readable. 
It seems to have struck the happy 
medium between an appearance of 
sleepy respectability and wild-eyed 
sensationalism. It stimulates curiosity 
without hitting the public in the eye 
with screaming atrocities of printers' 

Where is the field for such a paper 
as this, with its four editions each day, 
apart perhaps from that offered by the 
great denomination of which it is in a 
certain sense a representative? The 
question is natural enough, and yet no 
one who asks it could talk for ten min- 
utes with the responsible editors of the 
Monitor without being impressed with 
the thought that there is such a field 
and it is being cultivated skilfully and 
with true journalistic instinct. 

There were many papers in the »world 
before the advent of this one, and they 
seemed, at least, to cover every phase 
of human activity. But the people in 
charge of "The Christian Science Mon- 
itor" believed that there were still 
highly important and highly interest- 
ing matters to be exploited, and it is 
only fair to say that they have found 
them. No newspaper man of any per- 
ception whatever can study a few is- 



sues of the Monitor without feeling at 
once that while it contains all the news 
that is essential enough to be chron- 
icled, it also has the faculty of "dig- 
ging out," in newspaper parlance, 
many fresh features and important 
happenings. It covers numerous inter- 
esting topics and affairs overlooked or 
neglected by other journals. 

Back of every newspaper there is 
and must be a prevailing motive. In 
the case of "The Christian Science 
Monitor" stands the intent and deter- 
mination to produce a newspaper that 
may be accepted without fear or 
apology by the most careful and refined 
home and that shall yet have some- 
thing of interest and profit for every 
member of the family and shall further 
tell it all it needs to know about the 
great affairs of the great world. It is 
as if the command had gone forth one 
year ago: "Make a good newspaper; 
make a clean newspaper; make a hand- 
some newspaper; make an instructive 
newspaper — but make a live news- 
paper." And, lo, that thing was done. 

Many papers, started with the idea of 
effecting reforms, have been antagon- 
istic in their methods ; they have sought 

to tear down, instead of trying to build 
up. Here is where the Monitor is dif- 
ferent. It is not destructive, but con- 
structive; it seeks to supplant existing 
evils with vital good. It is not com- 
bative, but is energetic in advancing all 
those things which make for the better- 
ment of mankind. The following out 
of this policy has created no enemies, 
but has won thousands of friends for 
the Monitor and the principles which 
it represents. 

The Monitor has developed one or 
two rather interesting rules of conduct, 
somewhat novel in the making up of 
a newspaper. Naturally it is the in- 
tent to make a first page of pleasure to 
the eye and the artistic sense. Now 
it is well known that the great mass 
of newspapers permit their second page 
to be a general dumping ground for the 
tag ends of articles run over from the 
first. In fact, so long as the outside of 
the paper is attractive, the customary 
rule is to let the "stuffing" take care of 

The Monitor has changed all that. 
It insists that its second page be as 
pleasing in appearance as the first, and 
it makes up its remarkably full and able 









The men work in the 
best surroundings 

Composing and stereotyping rooms 



foreign news, for which it had at the 
beginning a highly trained and exper- 
ienced writer from England, on this 
same page. It has a page of finance and 
commerce gotten together by men of 
recognized authority, and its "Home 
Forum" page, so-called, in which every 
day the intent stands clear to print 
something of educational value is 
edited by a teacher of long experience 
and a woman formerly connected with 
one of the important publishing houses 
of the country. 

The student of journalism will note 
that in many respects the Monitor has 
no intention whatever of omitting pop- 
ular features. For instance, it has a 
complete page devoted to athletic sports 
which the students of one of the Uni- 
versities recently voted the best in New 
England. To be sure, no space is de- 
voted to the exploits of one plugugly 
who is set up to batter another into 
insensibility, but all clean athletics are 
thoroughly covered and served in well- 
written style. Illustrations, as has 
been noted, are many and excellently 
printed, and the whole tone of the 
paper is indicative of the desire to 
interest the decent average people who 
are in truth the backbone of our civili- 

That motive appears most signifi- 
cantly in the composing of the editorial 
page. Within a unique and handsome 
border there appear daily a half dozen 
or more clear and pithy discussions of 
the salient events of the world. It is 
believed on the Monitor that the intel- 
ligent American desires at least some 
comment on the notable affairs ' of 
Europe, and to make this comment sat- 
isfactory a writer who for years has 
been as familiar with the streets of 
London and the by-ways of Peru and 
Chili as with the scenes of New York 
was secured and now does his share in 
making the editorial page one of the 
very best and most complete in the 
United States. 

Even the most rabid foe of Christian 
Science might read the Monitor day 
after day without the slightest vexa- 
tion of spirit, for he will find before 
him a well-appointed, well-edited, well- 

written newspaper, and not a tract or a 
pamphlet. The way in which the Mon- 
itor advances the principles which it 
was founded to sustain is not by ser- 
monizing but by presenting the affairs 
of the world with such an optimistic 
and helpful touch that the "evil that 
men do" is minimized, and the noble 
achievements of the race stand forth in 
clear emphasis. There is but one 
article in each issue upon Christian 
Science, this being carried upon the 
"Home Forum" page. 

It used to be said that "The Chris- 
tian Science Monitor" would have no 
need for advertisements because its 
confessedly great circulation and the 
wealth of the denomination might be 
counted upon for its ample support. 
But that was not at all the plan of those 
who undertook the conduct of the 
daily. They believed that it should be 
apart from the few exceptions already 
noted, like other papers of the land, self- 
supporting. It was no part of their 
planning to make it a dependant upon 
charity. So a vigorous campaign for 
the acquiring of the usual "sinews of 
war" was undertaken and has been 
going on ever since with always in- 
creasing success. 

The growth of the "business" in the 
Monitor has been steady and entirely 
satisfactory — and it must be remem- 
bered that more advertising is refused 
than is accepted and printed. It is 
a self-evident fact that requires little 
evidence on the part of solicitors that 
the circulation of the paper is of the 
very finest sort, embracing thousands 
upon thousands of homes where cul- 
ture and refinement reign and where 
the buying power is generally large. 

Once in a while, naturally, an adver- 
tising man has to be convinced. Such 
a one was the head of a big New York 
agency taking his vacation in the re- 
mote depths of the Maine woods this 
summer. He was in a camp at the 
head of a long lake past the foot of 
which ran the only railroad within a 
hundred miles. It is said that, feel- 
ing especially energetic one morning, 
he decided to canoe down the forest- 
embowered waters and see a real train 



of cars come in from far-off civiliza- 

He arrived at the station, which was 
a little shanty set among the trees, just 
in time for the arrival of the cars. As 
the train came to a halt the door of the 
baggage car opened and a fellow in uni- 
form threw off two little bundles. They 
were absolutely the only things, hu- 
man or inanimate, left by the train that 
day. His curiosity aroused, the ad- 
vertising magnate picked up one of the 
bundles from the platform and saw 
thereon emblazoned, "From 'The Chris- 
tian Science Monitor,' " Two copies of 
that paper had come into this fastness 
of the forest, and it is on record that 
the advertising man was satisfactorily 
convinced of the energy and the far- 
reaching scope of the 

It is no idle boast in 
the splendid publishing 
house on Falmouth 

Street that "The Christian Science 
Monitor" has the largest prepaid sub- 
scription list of any daily newspaper. 
From out the marvellously ingenious 
machines that fold, wrap and address 
the papers at one operation, pour forth 
little bundles of the Monitor destined 
to visit every country upon the 

Into every quarter of Christendom 
and heathendom goes this daily mes- 
sage of inspiration and hope. It is 
no wonder that its editors and all con- 
nected with its remarkable develop- 
ment feel that what they have accom- 
plished in less than one year is but 
an earnest of the higher success 
and greater influence that shall 
come to the paper in the future. 
It turned out to be 
true, as they believed, 
that modern civiliza- 
tion was ready for a 
new type of journalism. 

Huge Goss machine 



From This peace 

papers are sent to 

every country on 

the geobe 




About Roman Folklore 

By Dr. J. A. F. ORBAAN 

TWO and a half thousand years 
of history are no burden for the 
ordinary Roman citizen. He 
takes from the amazing amount of 
dates and facts, of destinies and dynas- 
ties, from all the contrasts, which 
astonished generations, and out of the 
midst of a world of famous men, a 
few happenings and personalities, as 
his share of remembrances of the long 

We are naturally interested to know 
what and which are his thoughts as 
to the long history of his city. Who 
wanders and lives for a short time 
with all his soul in the Rome of gone- 
by ages — as we all have done, or hope 
to do — puts the question, rising from 
the very construction of ruins and his- 
tory: "What is left of former Rome to 
the living Italian?" Or, to ask more 
formally: "What is the folklore of 
Rome in our days?" 

At first here presents itself the dif- 
ficulty of getting sure information. 
School education, newspaper articles, 
the popular stage, have to be elimi- 
nated. The guide, who leads tourists 
around, is not to be considered as 
Roman citizen, but more as a mind 
shaped for the satisfaction of inter- 
national curiosity. A good deal of this 
man's knowledge is no common good. 
He has hard work to master it him- 
self and to keep file of emperors, coun- 
sels, popes and artists in their right 
place. The guide-books tell too much 
or too little. They have no reason to 
deal regularly with the popular fancy. 
There exists many books dedicated to 
the legends of Rome and the Cam- 
pagna — but their contents surpass far 
the medium notions of the contem- 
porary Roman of the middle and lower 

The only way — and certainly not an 


easy one — is to make an experiment 
with a real Roman and to control our 
observations with the experience of 
some trustworthy specialist. It takes 
besides acquaintance of the Roman 
dialect and expressions, some pulling 
and dragging — a thorough use of 
what we call in chemistry reagentia — 
to get our man to tell all he knows. 

I had a real "Romano di Roma" and 
controlled myself with a handy book, 
written by a poet in Roman language 
and verses, who guarantees, as gen- 
uine, stories from one or two genera- 
tions ago, whatever he states. 

To begin with, I asked around for 
Romulus and Remus, and found them 
generally well known, even amongst 
the people of villages lost in the moun- 
tains of Latium and the confining 
Abruzzi. These are only surpassed by 
the folks around Terracina, who are 
said to keep track in their popular 
songs of the mythical visit of Odysseus 
to their present shores. The Romans 
know why the city government keeps 
the wolves at the head of the steps 
leading to the Capitol : they recog- 
nize the twins in the famous bronze of 
the museum "dei Conservatori," as also 
on the beltbuckle of the city-policemen. 
More friendly than old time nomen- 
clature they call them even Romolo 
and Remolo. A couple of sons with 
those venerable names is a real joy 
for many a Roman laborer. 

From the origin, we have to fly 
over the growth to the decline of an- 
cient Rome to meet again our Romani 
grumbling yet over Nero. A "Nerone" 
is still a current expression to point 
out an actual character on the stamp 
of the classic type. Never the Romans 
forgive the original — his burning down 
the city — nor do they forget his ap- 
pearance in the circus. They show 



The monument the Romans Love 

the tower, where he looked out, playing 
the guitar, and singing poetry com- 
posed for the event. On medieval 
maps of Rome, near the pres- 
ent Ponte Margherita, is shown: 
"the tower, where the ghost of Nero 
dwelt a long time." With the tower 
vanished the legend. But another 
"umbra Neronis" speaks through the 
common Roman expression: "Non e 
piu er tempo, che Berta filava." (The 
time is past that Bertha spun.) Not all 
who use now the expression, taken in 

its right sense of the exceptional good 
times having gone by, know the origin 
of this peculiar sentence. The old 
story may have been forgotten and 
only the end preserved, as the refrain 
of many a popular song once known in 
its full charm by our grandmothers. 

Berta, with her name as un-Roman 
as could be chosen, was a worthy an- 
cestor of a type of Trastevere. Bold, 
outspoken, fearless and proud of her 
position, this imaginary figure of 
Neronian times could now take her 



place as hostess of some osteria beyond 
the Tiber. Walking with the spindle 
under her arm, poor and busy, she 
meets the imperator and coldly wishes 
him: "A thousand years of life." Nero 
paused — and wondered at the strange 
expression. He asked the woman, why 
this compliment? She was prepared. 
Her short speech was only meant as 
to awaken his curiosity, as to place 
better her bitter criticism. "So your 
crimes can long continue !" Over- 
powered by her daring, he commands 
her to come the following day to the 
palace, bringing with her all the thread 
she had spun. Berta, considering this a 
dead verdict, goes on her errand — to 
find herself rewarded with as much 
land as her spun thread could sur- 
round. All poor women followed her 
example, going to the palace and ask- 
ing for a present; hoping to make 
profit of Nero's instantaneous gener- 
osity — but they got the only answer: 
"It is no more the time, that Berta 

Another emperor, Marcus Aurelius, 
had, besides others, this advantage: 
that his statue has been exposed in 
public perhaps ever since the time of 
its erection in the Forum. Probably 
this favor of the middle-ages has been 
bestowed on the statue as it went 
under the erroneous name of the 
Christian emperor, Constantine. I do 
not speak here of its wanderings from 
the Forum to Saint John in Lateran 
and the legends of the middle-ages 
preserved in the marvellous little boek 
"Mirabilia urbis Romae," and how the 
great tribune, Cola di Rienzo, made 
abuse of the bronze, just to have wine 
spouting through the nostrils of the 
powerful animal — before Michelangelo 
placed it safely on the Capitol. At 
present two stories are told. The 
traces of gold on the statue will spread, 
so the Roman tells you ; and when the 
rider and his horse will be completely 
covered — the golden age will return. 
The other story is more ingenuous. 
Somebody demands : "Do you know 
why that man sits on his horse without 
its bridle?" The same person will re- 
solve the solution. "That emperor had 

a reign without limits. Therefore they 
represented him free on his horse. 
Where it would go, to the right or the 
left, the emperor would always remain 
on his own territory. Do you not see, 
that he indicates the same idea with 
the noble movements of his out- 
stretched arms." In the same way the 
Romans of the middle-ages interpreted 
the gestures of the Dioscuri — the two 
young men on the Quirinal hill, Prassi- 
tele and Fibia (sic) counting on their 
fingers the years of the destiny of 

Their counting was as mere guess- 
work compared to the security given 
by "cose fatali," the things of fate, like 
the gilding of the statue of Marcus 
Aurelius and the stability of the Co- 
losseum, which merits to be called a 
safe standard, from a chronological 

The old Roman rhyme is still known : 

"Fino ch'er Coliseo durera" 
(As long as the Colosseum stands) 
"Puro Roma su stara" 
(Will also Rome endure) 
"Quanno er Coliseo caschera" 
(When the Colosseum will fall) 
"Puro Roma ha da casca" 
(Also Rome must fall) 
"Quanno Roma finira" 
(When Rome will be ended) 
"Tutto er mondo s'ha da scapicolla" 
(The whole world will turn upside 

Something about the Colosseum has 
puzzled the Roman — how to explain 
the numberless holes in that mass of 
stone. The memory has lost sight of 
the times, when the ancestors were 
digging in those nitches for the bronze 
clasps, which once fastened the marble 
mantle to the stone-work. The ex- 
planation now given contains, perhaps, 
more ancient remembrances. The 
incisions are explained as the start of 
a conspiracy to destroy the Colosseum. 
Every Roman is familiar with the 
mining of quarries. From excursions 
along the Via Flaminia, where hunters 
search the lonesome hare, or in the 
mountains of Tivoli, they remember ac- 



Street eiee in Rome 

curately the preparation of this kind 
of work. The Colosseum presents this 
same pigeon-hole surface. Musing up- 
on history in the real folkloristic way, 
they suppose that the plot was made 
by the Barbarians to blow up the Co- 
losseum. Never mind if gunpowder 
was known or not known in those days. 
The Barbarians were the only ones 
who could conceive the vandalistic 
plan to such an extent. For us it is im- 
portant to observe how tenacious the 
record of the Barbarians destroying 
Rome keeps its place in the vague his- 
torical notions of the populous. 

The older legends, which I found not 
known to the Romans of the reign of 
Victor Emanuel III., concerned in 
more precise form the invasion. At- 
tila, ready to invade Rome, was hin- 
dered at Porta San Paolo by the ap- 
pearance of the apostles, Peter and 
Paul, with the drawn sword. As this 
is not specially a matter of faith, the 
Romans are not taught about it. With 
those kinds of legends, half political 
history, half religious, and especially 

with those which are more completely 
of a religious origin, we are not sure 
whether to arrange them in the folklore 
or to exclude them. The story of 
"Domine quo vadis" (whither goest 
thou?), told by ecclesiastical teachers 
to the young generation, is certainly 
more a subject of catechism than of 
folklore. It is easy to make mistakes 
in the division of what appertains to 
the popular mind and soul, and of 
what is brought by more cultured per- 
sons. I know quite an instructive ex- 
ample from my own observation. Pass- 
ing through a popular quarter of Rome, 
I remarked in the street a circle of 
young boys and girls in very expres- 
sive attitudes — all with different ges- 
tures, ecstatically looking towards 
heaven. One acted as judge, pointing 
to the onlooker the most esthetic fig- 
ure, according to his capable judg- 
ment. I saw in those youngsters the 
Raphaels, Michelangelos and Lavinia 
Fontanas of the future. I carried the 
example along with me — how ad- 
vanced the youthful play in Italy is 



in point of esthetics, compared to our 
rough boy-plays and to our doll-house 
girl play! But I soon was disillusioned 
— for Italian educators told me that 
nuns teach the children how to repre- 
sent in tableaux vivant the celestial 
rapture of different saints of the cal- 
endar. My play of free art proved to 
be a continuation of the convent- 
school, of the Christian Doctrine. 

We have to include in the medium- 
culture of the Italians also a respect- 
able portion of fine arts, exposed to 
the public in the churches. To certain 
people the Saint Theresa of Bernini 
and the Moses of Michelangelo are, by 
reason of their being parishioners of 
the churches containing these master- 
pieces, daily or weekly acquaintances. 
Also certain iconographical and hagio- 
graphical details are known by the 
whole populous, from statues and 
paintings, as to give lessons to art- 
historians from countries where the 
atmosphere is less pervaded with re- 
ligious art. This goes much farther 
than Saint Sebastian with the arrows, 
and Saint Catherine with the wheel. 
Perhaps, we have to make a concession 
for the popular stage in the folklore. 
At least we will not be at a loss, if we 
consider the ordinary representations 
as proof in our experiments — and, by a 
peculiar conglomeration of facts, we 
will have to extend our investigations 
also to the popular image. The old, 
known, beloved, told-over story is al- 
ways in the centre. If we take for ex- 
ample the misfortunes of Beatrice 
Cenci, we will find them many times 
announced for some cheap theatre and 
presented in the oleographs at the 
walls of the homes of small citizens. 
Here the popular theatre and the popu- 
lar art prove the existence of a great 
predilection in folklore for the drastic 
and dramatic story of the beautiful 
Cenci. The effect can also go in the 
opposite direction. 

The story of Tosca, a real Roman 
happening, long forgotten by the Ro- 
mans, and taken up by Sardou, comes 
back to Rome in the form of a libretto 
of the opera by Puccini. Now the 
opera has conquered absolutely the 

popular favor, and the same factories 
of cleographical art, which immortal- 
ized la Cenci in the prison, prepare by 
the hundreds : last acts of the opera la 
Tosca. The Romans observed, with 
pleasure, that the terrific story was ori- 
ginally played on the wide and tested 
stage of their own city. There is no 
doubt, that la Tosca belongs now to 
the folklore of Rome — but she only 
entered since Puccini began to reign 
over every Italian, who can hum and 

Real and genuine is Sixtus V. 

Never forgotten, he steps on the 
boards of the stage or is quoted as the 
very instant of a severe ruler in or- 
dinary conversation. A "Sisto quinto" 
is the antithesis of a "Nerone." 

The play with his name on the 
boards has always a crowded house 
and an insured success. From the long 
list of popes, Rome remembers before 
Pius the ninth only the sixteenth cen- 
tury: Sixtus the fifth (1585-1590). A 
Roman expression, on the style of 
"Non e piu er tempo, etc.," holds the 
quintessence of the reign of Sisto 

"Non annera sempre accusi" 

(It will not always go that way) 

This is the pope who revealed him- 
self the very day of his election a great 
reformer. The story is really worth 

One of the chapters of the short 
pontificate of Sixtus V. shows him as 
the pope, who made for the time of 
his reign an end to the daring deeds of 
the brigands, who infested the whole 
papal territory. In the pleasant book 
of Hubner — Sixte Quint — you will find 
a full description of his dealings with 
this enemy. Now, it is very remarkable 
that our short story introduces Sixtus 
V., disguised as a monk, going to the 
Colosseum to discover a crowd of 
brigands. We know that the former 
circus of Flavius has been, in older 
times, a hiding place for highway-rob- 
bers. This tradition haunts still the 
traveller, when he comes to admire the 
immense circus on moonlight nights. 
As to sixteenth century quaint tales 
about the place, I recommend the de- 



scription Benvenuto Cellini gives in his 
autobiography of spiritualistic experi- 
ments in the ring. 

The pope knew how to wear the 
habit to perfection. The brigands had 
surely met often in their plundering 
life, hermits living in the caverns of 
the mountain-wall behind the Cam- 
pagna. Yet in present times they 
avoid to disturb the harmless sentries 
of solitude and devotion. No wonder 
that the disguised pope got his en- 
trance. He even was at once charged to 
turn the grill before dinnertime. Turn- 
ing it in one direction he changed it 
sometimes, with the laconic observa- 
tion: "Non annera sempre accusi." 
After the meal, one by one, the rob- 
bers went to sleep. The monk then 
called the guards — the "sbirri" — and 
the next day the expression was used 
in another sense: the brigand — "life 
goes not always like this," as it was 

changed by a man, very busy in Six- 
tus' days — the executioner of Rome! 

The Romans remember in a greater 
light their pope, who planned the bet- 
terment of their city. His great build- 
ing-impulse is symbolized in the erec- 
tion of the obelisk of Nero. The im- 
mense monolyth had been neglected 
ever since the fall from its pedestal. 
Sixtus risked to place it, dedicated to 
Christianity, before Saint Peter's. The 
man for the occasion was easily found. 
An acquaintance of the days when 
Sixtus was not yet pope, and still in 
disgrace before his predecessor, a poor 
mason-boy, Domenico Fontana, had at- 
tracted his attention and favor. When 
the former monk rose to the zenith of 
his power, he appointed Fontana his 
architect. In no other architectural 
feat had the fortuned Fontana dared 
so much as when ordered by his loving 
master to fulfil this task. 

The pyramid oE the gate, San Paolo 

Glen Noble 


IT is a grand picture, a grand 
scheme, and the heart of the pa- 
triot swells as he contemplates 
it — these simple men, carrying the 
immutable credentials of their fel- 
lows, dignified by their invested 
powers, assembling laboriously from 
every corner of the State to devise 
together, in the sight of God and under 
the power of a free electorate, what 
is best for the whole, and then, by 
a simple "aye" or "nay" making or un- 
making the laws of a sovereign people. 

It is, as we say, an edifying picture, 
and with some regret we turn from its 
contemplation to view the real as- 
sembling of one, at least, modern 

Men, as of yore, are converging on 
the capital, some few with high re- 
solves and purposes single to be true 
to their trusts, free from all unholy al- 
liances. But they are not many. 

The real Legislature — and here shall 
be set down only that concerning which 
we have knowledge — arrives under a 
black slouch hat, a black cigar between 
his lips, his bulky form close attended 
by his secretary and two smirking 

Grandly, as becomes the sovereign 
power, he makes his way into the cita- 
del of law-giving, which the people, in 
the name of a free government have 
erected, the nominal legislators skurry- 
ing to make way for him, cringing at 
his approach, fawning to do his slight- 
est or weightiest bidding. 

On, down the tile-lined corridors he 
goes, corridors so lately echoing to 
vows of constancy to truth and justice, 
until he comes to a little chamber set 
aside ordinarily to the majesty of the 

Law personified in the High Sheriff 
of the County. 

Therein he enters and pauses, frown- 
ing upon some, smiling a smile of sun- 
shine of patronage on others. Are 
the preliminaries ready? Have his 
orders been carried out? Have certain 
bills been prepared and are certain 
schemes incubating as has been ar- 
ranged and directed? Very well. The 
Legislator seats himself in a cush- 
ioned chair prepared for the mighty. 
Another black cigar; a light; the cus- 
pidor- — the Legislature, de facto, is in 

Opposite, across the corridor, little 
men are flitting hurriedly to and fro 
in the confines of two magnificent 
chambers. Normally they are the 
Legislators. Some of them think that 
they really are; others try to think 
so; the most of them take their orders 
and think not at all. 

A man dedicated to spread God's 
word and do His work, stands up be- 
fore them and asks divine guidance 
upon "this honorable assembly. Be 
Thou present," he implores, "and 
directs their councils. Give them wis- 
dom for truth and justice. Before Thee 
they stand as supplicants, looking to 
Thee alone," and every ear in the 
great chamber is strained to its utter- 
most to learn if the Great One across 
the corridor has arrived yet. 

The good man knows the part he 
plays in the great hypocrisy: he, like 
all normal men, knows that these nom- 
inal legislators look no higher for 
guidance than to the chamber across 
the way; that therefrom the laws of 
the people emanate and that no recom- 
mendation may become operative and 

Copyright, ryo8, by Winslow Hall. All rights reserved. 



law without the sanction of the man 
who therein sits enthroned by reason 
of his great ability to minister to other 
men's greediness. The vicious hypo- 
crisy is potent, and yet it endures. 

When Glen came to the State capital 
the morning of the day upon which the 
Legislature by law was to convene, 
he came alone, a stranger in a strange 

He went, as he had been directed, to 
the Eagle Hotel, the famous hostelry 
of the Capital city which, for two gen- 
erations had been the headquarters 
of politicians and whose ancient walls, 
if they might speak, could tell a his- 
tory of intrigue, political scheming 
and chicanery, which would put the 
egotistical descendants of many a 
vaunted statesman to blush. He found 
the corridor filled with men, tobacco 
smoke and the sound of rife discus- 
sion, and as he made his way to the 
office desk his tall young form was con- 
spicious in the gathering. 

Pie was pointed out by some who 
knew him, as one of the new members, 
a young fellow who came from the 
district where Burland lived, one who 
had made a stir in his section and who 
was an uncertain quantity in general, 
being a product of the political unrest 
which was affecting the entire State. 

He was assigned to a room and, after 
registering, he sought out Major Ter- 
rill, who had his quarters on an upper 
floor. When he entered the room he 
was at once recognized by one of the 
independent workers and introduced to 
those standing by as "that young colt 
from over Stonestead way, who had 
kicked over the traces and with whom 
the machine leaders were experiencing 
some difficulty in an attempt to hitch 
him to the administration band- 

In shaking hands all round some one 
remarked to Glen : "So you are looking 
for honor, too, eh?" 

"Well, just at present I'm looking 
for his honor, Major Terrill," replied 
Glen, and the reply evoked laughter, 
during which a bulky form stepped 
from behind a screen at the window 
and the genial old attorney and former 

County Judge came slowly across to 
greet his young friend, a volume in 
one hand, a stub finger between the 
pages as a marker and his glasses, over, 
instead of through which his inscrut- 
ably deep eyes twinkled jovially, tilted 
on his Roman nose. 

"That reminds me of a little story," 
said the Major, removing the glasses 
and tapping Glen's shoulder with their 
steel rims. "A young chap up in Coos 
and his lady love were attending a 
protracted prayer meeting at the vil- 
lage church. Getting there late they 
found the edifice filled, but a gentle- 
man arose and gave the lady his seat, 
while the young man was ushered 
away to a seat far down forward. The 
service grew warm and impressive. 
'Will those who want our prayers 
please stand,' said the preacher. At 
this juncture the young man thought 
it was getting late and that he would 
get his sweetheart and go homeward, 
but not just knowing where she was 
seated he rose to his feet and looked 
over the audience. The good pastor 
smiled benignly down at him, and said : 
'Young man, are you seeking salva- 
tion?' To which the young man re- 
sponded: 'No, sir, I'm seeking Sal 
Tomkins .' " 

"Well," said the Judge, adjusting his 
glasses, and looking sternly over them 
at his laughing auditors, "this won't 
do. We'd better get over to the State 
House and see how the fat-frying is 
going on." 

When the little company of outlaws 
arrived at the capitol building its an- 
cient and lofty-pillared corridors were 
echoing with the tramp and Babel-like 
voices of men. Pages were skurrying 
about, clerks with officious documents 
were diving in and out of the several 
chambers and large-waisted men with 
large-waisted cigars between their 
lips were the centres of scattered 
groups of less pompous individuals, all 
discussing the pros and cons of the 
pregnant legislative session. 

A page approached Glen as he was 
removing his overshoes and asked him 
if he was "the gentleman from Stone- 
head." Upon being informed that he 



hailed from that town, the lad said, in 
a whisper, that "the Boss would like 
to see you in the Sheriff's office." 

Glen smiled. "Tell Mr. Carpenter," 
said he to the boy, "that I am busy, 
the House being about to convene, but 
that if he desires to see me I will be 
in the committee-room at the noon re- 

The page looked incredulous. No 
such message of refusal had ever been 
transmitted within his knowledge to 
the State Boss upon his request, which 
was equivalent to an order, that he 
desired to see a member in his office. 
But as Glen moved off to the entrance 
into the House and gave no token that 
his answer was other than sincere and 
final, the boy sped away, filled with 
a new importance. 

When he entered the presence of 
Justin Carpenter, who sat surrounded 
by his retinue of servile lieutenants, he 
delivered his message breathlessly and 
then waited in silence, others in the 
room eyeing one another askance and 
pausing in conversation to note the ef- 
fect on their chief of the exceptional 

No shade of annoyance or other 
testament of his feelings showed upon 
the great man's stolid features. He 
was too good a general of himself and 
of other men to permit that. He con- 
tinued uninterrupted to read the letter 
he held in his hand, chewing the end 
of an unlighted cigar between his 
massive jaws. 

Finally he said: "Tell Marston 
I want him," and even the atmosphere 
of the chamber surcharged with the 
moment of his calmly spoken order. 

The "Marston" referred to was none 
other than the Lieutenant Governor of 
the State, President of the Senate and 
designated by law equal with the Gov- 
ernor himself, His Excellency. 

The Lieutenant Governor, also, was 
designated by statute chairman, ex- 
officio, of the Returning Board, a com- 
mission of high State officials created to 
have the final and decisive counting of 
all ballots cast in general elections for 
the State officers. The town clerks 
certify to the Secretary of State the 

count of ballots as made on the night 
of election by the poll officials, but 
that count is not, in reality, official. 
The conclusive results are obtained 
only after the ballots have gone under 
the hands of the members of the Re- 
turning Board. 

Ordinarily the sessions of this board 
were quite perfunctory, and, in gen- 
eral, the count of the poll wardens is 
accepted as sufficiently accurate and 
final. The members of the Board met 
regularly, after each election, as in duty 
bound, and, at the rate of compensa- 
tion of seven dollars per day, levied 
upon the State treasury for several 
weeks dilatory employment. Little 
public interest, however, was ordi- 
narily centred in the result of their 
labors. This year, however, owing to 
changes in the ordinary political 
status, and the number of unusual con- 
tests and party cleavage in many of 
the electoral districts, none the less, 
it may be hazarded, as a result of the 
excuse thereby afforded for extraordi- 
nary assault upon the State treasury, 
the sitting of the Returning Board had 
been prolonged. All through the 
month it had continued in session, and 
even now, with the Legislature about 
to convene, its arduous labors had not 
been concluded. 

As the count of the towns was taken 
in alphabetical order, Stonestead, the 
third from the last on the roll, had 
not yet been reached. 

It was scarcely a minute after the 
page sent to summon Marston had 
disappeared on his errand, when the 
Lieutenant Governor made his ap- 
pearance, smirking and bowing to 
those present, and stood before The 
Boss deferentially. 

For a moment the manipulator of 
men, who happened to be writing, 
scratched on with his pen, the grating 
of its stub point over the linen paper 
the only sound in the room. Presently 
he said, without looking up : 

"A — , Marston. Has the Board 
reached Stonehead yet in the count?" 

"No ; not yet," replied the Chairman 
of the Board, pulling one of his grey 
side-whiskers nervously. 



He was president of the bank in his 
town and quite a body when at home. 
Answering calls and cooling his heels 
while waiting was not ordinary with 
him, but he knew his indebtedness to 
the man who had summoned him and 
answered his question as one knowing 
his master. 

"In fact," he continued, "we've only 
got down to Moultonville. It's been 
quite a complicated count this year." 

"Yes," remarked the Boss, and was 
silent, and none of those listening could 
say in what spirit it had been uttered. 
Presently the grating of the pen 

"See me after adjournment," said the 
Boss, looking up for the first time dur- 
ing the interview, piercing the little 
man before him with the penetrating 
glance of his calm, gray eyes. "And, 
Marston," as the Lieutenant Governor 
was turning away, "see to it that none 
of the other members go out of town. 
We may want some counting done — ex- 

Eye met eye in cautious inquiry 
amongst the several political workers 
and trusty subordinates lounging about 
the room. They were men well versed 
in party politics of the sort termed 
practical, astute men according to their 
lights, and they knew intuitively that 
this calling of Marston from his post 
as presiding officer of the senate, the 
inquiries made of him in relation to the 
count, as affecting the home town of 
the young representative who had sent 
back such an unheard-of reply to the 
Leader's demand for an interview, and, 
the orders given for the members to 
hold themselves in readiness, meant 
something of special import, and their 
fertile brains were busy devising what 
it might be. 

The Boss had not fully believed that 
Glen would answer his summons. He 
had taken pains to observe the repre- 
sentative from Stonestead from afar 
on more than one occasion, and, being 
an exceedingly shrewd judge of men, 
as was necessary to his success, he 
had drawn his own conclusions regard- 
ing Glen's independence of spirit. The 
Boss had simply decided that the time 

had arrived when he should know his 
man positively, and had requested an 
interview as a tentative procedure to 
that end. 

The remainder of the day was taken 
up in organizing both branches of the 
Legislature, electing officers, announc- 
ing standing committees, and early in 
the afternoon adjournment was taken 
until the following day. 


It would have been a toss-up in 
the mind of a stranger dropped 
down suddenly in the capital city of 
the State the following morning, who 
chanced to read impartially all the sev- 
eral local papers and those others which 
came in on early trains from far places, 
whose special reporters were on the 
spot, whether the young man, Glen 
Noble, whose name was so conspicious- 
ly mentioned in story and dispatch, had 
wakened to find himself famous or in- 

The staunch administration organs, 
subsidized by political preferment, fat 
advertising contracts, railroad passes, 
or other or all of these inducements to 
a biased statement of the situation, re- 
viled him with venom and double leads. 
They called him a "Judas," an "Arnold 
to the party"; they said he was a vis- 
ionary young man, elected by a fluke, 
who had set himself up as better than 
his party on a pinnacle of reform and 
was posing in the limelight of publicity 
to gratify his vanity. The more ex- 
treme journals hinted strongly that he 
was insincere and was prepared to 
stand out for a bribe or promise of 
larger office. 

The independent Republican news- 
papers, and those of Democratic pro- 
clivity which alligned themselves with 
the fusion element, hailed him, on the 
conttary, as a composite hero, each 
after his own manner and degree of 

Major Terrill was just coming down 
the broad main stairway of the hotel, 
on his way to breakfast, when a man 
came hurriedly in through the outer 
vestibule and accosted him. The two 



talked in an undertone for a few mo- 
ments, and bystanders noticed that the 
usual kindly expression on the face of 
the old attorney changed to a hardened 
look, while his features flushed, as if in 
anger. "The skunks, would they dare 
try it?" he was overheard to exclaim. 

His companion, it was apparent, was 
laboring under a stress of excitement, 
and when the Major turned to retrace 
his way to his room, forgetful of his 
breakfast, he followed him, evidently 
explaining some absorbing matter. 

Soon messengers were noticed on 
their way after other adherents of the 
anti-machine faction and rumor flew 
that something of an untoward, if not 
highly sensational, nature was brewing, 
Well-known opponents of the Boss and 
administration methods came hurriedly 
into the hotel lobby and were directed 
to the room occupied by the Major, 
wherein he and Glen and several of 
their friends were already closeted. 

Thanks to the gratuitous advertis- 
ing which the political situation with 
relation to the senatorial contest had 
received in the papers, throngs of 
people began flocking into the city 
early from nearby towns and outly- 
ing districts, and soon they also were 
inbued with the prevailing sentiment 
that something portentious was about 
to happen. 

Amongst others, Constance and sev- 
eral of her school companions were 
driven over from Westborough, chap- 
eroned by one of the lady teachers of 
the seminary, the faculty availing the 
seniors of the school of the nearby 
opportunity to gain a knowledge of 
legislative methods, which, ordinarily, 
they studied only in the abstract and 

In the meantime excitement in what 
was transpiring behind the scenes in- 
creased amongst the on-lookers, and 
the very air seemed electrified with 
suspense. Rumor, denial and re- 
assertion traversed from tongue to 
tongue. No one appeared to know any- 
thing definite, nor, indeed, what really 
had started the sudden commotion. 
Like news of war and pestilence it 
traversed space unaided. 

When Glen entered the chamber of 
the House, he was the centre of much 
observation. As he made his way 
down the aisle to his seat he did not 
glance up to the gallery, and, there- 
fore, missed seeing two brown eyes 
bent upon him which would have been 
as a baptism of balm and courage in 
his hour of need. 

He had met Major Terrill on the 
stairway as he came in. The old law- 
yer wore a look of fury on his brow. 
"They're going to try it, Glen," he 
said, laying a kindly hand on the 
younger man's broad shoulder. "The 
hounds ! It'll mean revolution and all 
law-abiding men in arms against 'em 
if they succeed, but they're bent on 
putting the election through and will 
scruple at nothing. The returning 
board had just adjourned. I've sent 
for Judge Staples, but he's out of 
town. If we can get to another Su- 
preme Court Judge before they break 
their damn political necks over the 
precipice, we'll get a peremptory in- 
junction and save the old State the dis- 
grace, but the time's mighty short. Keep 
'em, boy, as long as you can and we'll 
do the best we're able," and the old ju- 
rist dove down the steps with the agil- 
ity of youth, his regard for the fortunes 
of his young friend in one balance, his 
love for the honor of his State in the 

The assembly was called to order 
with evident haste. The grey-haired 
chaplain was bundled onto the speak- 
er's platform and off with the open- 
ing and the closing words of his ben- 
ediction still on his lips. Roll was 
called and the first order of business 
was called for. 

"A report from the Committee of the 
Whole on Elections," announced the 
chairman of that committee. 

"A report from the Committee of the 
Whole on Elections," mimicked the 
Honorable Speaker. "The clerk will 
read the report." 

A silence as of death was in the 
chamber. Every one within the great 
room was strained to the utmost to 
hear and see. Not a sound broke the 
hush save the crackle of paper as the 



;lerk unfolded the communication and 
prepared to read. 


As the Clerk of the House rose in his 
Mace and proceeded to read the re- 
port of the Returning Board, the last 
court of appeal, as it were, of the 
uallot, an audible indrawing of breaths 
sounded over the assemblage; nerves 
-elaxed and people sank back in their 
seats and almost felt a sigh of relief 
:rom gallery to floor. Neighbor looked 
it neighbor and smiled. The fuse of 
expectancy had burned down, and 
lothing had occurred. 

Like an ingenious automaton the 
:lerk mouthed the jargon of technical 
phrases of the formal report, and 
ower and lower his monotonous voice 
:ell under dominion of the droning rise 
md casual converse, growing louder, 
is more on-lookers lost interest and 
settled back comfortably in their seats 
}r turned to neighbors for exchange 
:>f sentiments. 

Of a sudden, a word, through no 
:hanged inflection in the reader's 
/oice, caught the plastic mind of some 
gallery on-looker and he bent quickly 
"orward toward the speaker's desk. As 
;he music calms, then ceases at soft 
:ontact of the felted hammer on the 
vibrating strings of a pianoforte, so, 
swiftly, the silence, as though the stay- 
ng hand of a mighty player ran round 
:he throng, swept over the floor and 
gallery, and again the great audience 
:o the little drama drew tense, and 
silently gaped to learn what it was that 
lad so mysteriously impressed them. 

"And we further find," the clerk was 
Ironing, "that in the Town of Stone- 
stead one hundred and seven imper- 
r ect ballots were cast, which were 
wrongfully counted by the wardens to 
:he credit of one Glen Noble, Inde- 
pendent-Republican, which, by reason 
)f their imperfections should have been 
:hrown out, resulting in a majority of 
:hree for Hollis, the regular Republi- 
:an nominee. 

_ "And we beg leave to report" — the 
sing-song voice of the clerk was going 

on, but like the surge of surf and sud- 
den break of storm following hard 
upon the silence that portends a sum- 
mer's gale, pandemonium broke loose 
in the galleries and for a moment 
cries, hisses, cat-calls, stampings and 
loud exclamations of approval, triumph 
and of denunciation, filled the great 
chamber in pulsing conflict. 

The speaker hammered with his 
gavel with the vigor of a boiler riveter 
under the gaze of his section boss. 
The sergeant-at-arms strode up and 
down the aisle, red-faced and impotent, 
and members sawed the air vertically 
and criss-cross with their arms and 
bellowed for recognition. 

For a few moments it was as far 
from that "peacful conclave" to which 
the chaplain had referred during his 
meteoric passage up and down the 
steps of the speaker's rostrum a few 
moments ago, as the Court of Love 
from Bedlam. 

It was only when the Law's uni- 
formed officers made their appearance 
in the gallery that there was appre- 
ciable calm, and then could be heard 
the unbroken drone of the imperturb- 
able clerk, still reading: "all of which is 
respectfully submitted," and then fol- 
lowed the names of the members, 
"members of the State Returning 

Instantly, upon conclusion of the 
reading of the report, a member in 
a front seat was recognized by the 
chair and with the celerity of precon- 
ceived scheming his motion to approve 
was made and adopted. 

Men on the opposition side of the 
chamber were standing like animated 
exclamation points, clamoring for re- 
cognition by the speaker, but that well- 
tutored worthy had, to all intent and 
purpose, been suddenly striken deaf 
and blind and could see no one. Again 
a babel of sound was rising in the gal- 
lery and the conflict of voices, the 
slamming of the gavel and the thud of 
hurrying feet up and down the aisles 
echoed up into the vaulted ceiling. 

The floor leader of the administra- 
tion rose in his place and for a brief 
moment the strange affliction of the 



speaker was lifted. He saw and heard 
the representative of his political mas- 
ter. "The gentleman from Swenton !" 
he exclaimed. 

For a moment the tumult subsided. 

"I move that, in conformity with the 
report of the State Returning Board," 
bellowed the Gentleman for Swenton, 
"that the seat of the Representative 
from the Town of Stonestead be de- 
clared vacant." 

In vain the speaker belabored his 
inoffensive desk with his mallet, and 
the officials of peace strode stern-faced 
and warningly up and down. Mem- 
bers of the opposition grew red-faced 
and, bent in contortions, demanded to 
be heard upon the motion; the gallery 
was in an uproar, the voice of the 
seconder of the motion and the voice of 
the speaker putting the motion to vote 
was drowned completely. Cries of 
"fraud" met and blended with cries of 
"good, put him out"; demands for roll 
call mingled with loud presentments 
of substitute motions and amendments, 
and the general uproar was punctuated 
by shrill whistles, cat-calls and cries 
of mingled approval and derision. 

A messenger plowed his way through 
the central aisle to Glen's desk, where 
"the Gentleman from Stonestead" sat. 
pale, but calm-faced, surrounded by a 
score of impassioned friends. 

"A special engine had gone to Man- 
chester to get Judge Wakefield's sig- 
nature," he exclaimed over Glen's 
shoulder. "Hold 'em as long as you can 
and we may get the ruling in time. 
The Major is on the special and will 
wire you from the other end." 

Tall, graceful, and his young form 
and stern-set features commanding, 
even in such a seething caldron of hu- 
man emotion, Glen rose from his desk 
and stood looking over the sea of up- 
turned faces. 

The commotion ceased, ebbing away 
into the furthest corners, where loud 
talking for a few moments continued. 


"Mr. Speaker," Glen was saying, in a 
strong, even voice that carried his 
words to the furthest part of the great 

hall of legislation, "I ask for the 
privilege of the floor for a few moments 
to speak upon a matter somewhat per- 
sonal and which, therefore, none the 
less than because of the nature of the 
motion which I understand to be now 
before the house, is hardly in order, 
except through the indulgence of the 

The Speaker, himself, had stepped 
from his place into the coat-room, at 
the call of the towering individual who 
had come from his desk in the Sheriff's 
office to be near to the scene of con- 
flict, and an administration member 
had been called , temporarily to the 
chair. Amid the bewildering confu- 
sion the new presiding officer was un- 
equal to the unexpected emergency and 
"the Gentleman from Stonestead" was 

A complete stillness fell upon the 
assemblage and even the Speaker, 
hurrying in with perturbed face to 
carry out his new orders and stem the 
tide of opposition, tiptoed to his place 
on the platform. 

"I recognize," Glen continued, bow- 
ing to the Speaker in appreciation of 
his privilege and smiling faintly, "the 
right of this house to expel from his 
sitting any member and to declare 
elections void upon conclusive evi- 
dence. I do not propose to presume 
upon your accorded privilege of the 
floor to argue that phase of the situa- 
tion. I should, however, feel I had 
been sadly remiss of duty, not only to 
my townspeople but to myself, if I 
did not here and now endeavor to 
state publicly the convictions which 
animate me and to place myself square- 
ly before this chamber upon the 
matter in issue." 

Cries of "good, go on," sounded from 
the gallery, and the Speaker fidgeted 
in his chair. One member on the ad- 
ministration side attempted to inter- 
rupt with an objection but was silenced 
by a clamor of disapproval. 

"In all fundamental principles," 
Glen went on, his voice strengthen- 
ing as he proceeded, "I am of the 
party of my fathers; that glo- 
rious party of Webster, Lincoln. 



Woodbury and Adams, whose 
glorious history is the history of the 
nation in its most imperishable parts. 
But, Sir, while my allegiance to that 
party is deep-rooted, I feel we have 
a greater, a holier duty to serve — a 
duty and fealty to our State, to her 
interests and her hallowed soil in which 
is enshrined all our loftiest hopes and 
most precious memories. I deem it, 
Sir, a duty to myself to state, that 
upon this question which now agitates 
us, I believe it of transcending im- 
portance that the man who next repre- 
sents our State in the Senate of the 
United States should be chosen solely 
upon his knowledge of State needs, 
upon his ability to present them ur- 
gently, and upon his inborn loyalty to 
the grand old Commonwealth which 
shall move him, in spite of all opposi- 
tion, to vote right upon the issues now 
so vitally affecting the people of the 
country. These qualities, Sir, I believe 
to be more important in our next 
Senator than that he' shall be accredited 
to any party or fraction of party." 

Deafening applause from the gallery 
and the opposition side of the chamber 
obliged the speaker to pause for a 
moment, and he could not resist a 
fleeting smile of pleasure at this token 
of approval. He had not addressed a 
formal assemblage since his school 
days, when he used to take part in 
lyceum debate. His delivery was, in 
consequence of that early training, a 
trifle too oratorical, perhaps; his 
phraseology too academic; but they 
suited very well the occasion and the 
temper of the attendant crowd. 

"I am asked," Glen continued, taking 
a little pardonable license from the 
friendly attitude of his hearers, "to cast 
the vote with which I have been en- 
trusted for a man who, notoriously, 
has and can have no real sympathy 
with nor understanding of the prime 
needs of the State which he aspires to 
represent; a man who has constantly 
refused to answer the pertinent ques- 
tions I and my friends courteously ad- 
dressed to him during the campaign, 
which, if answered, would have placed 
him in his true light as a candidate 

for this high office. I am asked to 
cast that vote, given to me under 
solemn pledges, for a man whom I here 
charge, as I and others have heretofore 
charged him, with being a trafficer in 
votes, a despoiler of free suffrage and 
an aider and abettor of a system of 
spoilage which has here grown up and 
which threatens the fair name of our 
State with debasement. This I am 
asked to do, and in default of comply- 
ing, I am to be punished. 

"Sir," and Glen's straight young 
form seemed to heighten and broaden 
and his face to take a compelling look 
of honest sincerity, "rather would I 
take that punishment an hundred fold, 
and be driven from this chamber dis- 
credited by an overwhelming boughten 
vote, than be so untrue to my better 
impulses, my State and my friends as 
for one instant to entertain the per- 
fidious thought of casting my vote for 
such a candidate." 

The opposition members at this, to- 
gether with the large majority of the 
on-lookers in the gallery who were in 
sympathy with the young man, rose to 
their feet and brandished hats and 
papers, cheering him to the echo. The 
Speaker, in desperation, pounded his 
marred desk anew and administration 
spokesmen clamored for the original 
question. But "the Gentleman from 
Stonestead," now aroused thoroughly, 
had the bit in his teeth, as the saying 
goes, and without heeding the call to 
order, went on. 

"Sir," he exclaimed, and his strong 
young voice quelled the tumult of his 
admirers, "the gaze of a nation to-day 
is upon this gathering. Shall we, as 
chosen representatives of the people 
of this State, advertise to the world 
that the contumelious inuendoes which 
enemies have leveled at our fame are 
true? That men of riches may come 
here and buy political preferment? 

"Our State has suffered, grievously 
and long, at the hands of men who have 
no higher aim than personal gain and 
aggrandizement. She needs, Sir — des- 
perately needs — the good offices of 
loyal sons to represent her here and 
elsewhere, as one of the foremost, 



noblest States of all the whole grand 
Sisterhood. She shall be no rich man's 
plaything — this State of ours ; her hal- 
lowed soil shall not be apportioned 
out as idle playgrounds for idle people, 
and, Sir, if the American spirit of in- 
dependence stil survives, which, please 
God, it does and shall, and if love of 
home still finds a place in the hearts of 
absent sons and daughters, neither 
shall this soil, in which repose the 
forms of those who gave their all to 
its redemption, pass over into alien 
hands, to be the citadel of non-Amer- 
ican institutions." 

The pity of it was that dear old 
Major Terrill had not been present to 
hear "his boy" lay down the principles 
he had so often tried to inculcate. Un- 
heeding all save his determination to 
set himself aright before the question 
and to carry out the injunction im- 
posed upon him to delay a vote to the 
last extremity, Glen refused to give 
way to other speakers, but continued 
forcibly to have out his say in detail-. 

He told his hearers that that spirit 
of independence on which our fore- 
fathers founded this great nation was 
degenerating; that men had come to 
feel that they were not expected to 
speak out what they think; that there 
are better and higher aims than those 
of commercialism, and he urged the 
young men especially to rise and keep 
alive the flame of liberty of speech, the 
individuality and the ideas of morality 
and character of the men who made 
the nation. He said that when a 
nation stands for commercialism and 
material gain, ordinarily known as suc- 
cess, at the expense of individual in- 
dependence, then the day of decadence 
had set in. 

Reverting to State issues, he urged 
upon distant sons and daughters the 
imperative need to themselves and to 
the State for their return to the home 
of their childhood, the reclaiming of the 
soil from alien hands and the rearing 
here again of American families to 
make impossible, by their votes and 
presence, the further abuse of the State 
by unprincipled politicians. 

As to the particular question at is- 
sue, he said that the State needed as 
her representative in the highest 
branch of national government, a man 
who intimately knew the needs of the 
plain people of the State; one who 
had the courage of his convictions and 
who would lead a crusade for restric- 
tion of that undesirable immigration 
which is pouring into the country to 
undermine the opportunities of native 
sons, forcing them through unfair com- 
petition into menial positions and loss 
of their heritages. A large and in- 
creasing number of these immigrants, 
he urged, now bring with them from 
the scenes of political and social con- 
flict in Europe, tendencies adverse to 
the principles of American civilization. 
At more than one point, he cited, 
there have been disturbances arising 
from just this source, and he asked if 
the republic could feel secure that at 
any critical moment calling for military 
or other action in defence of public 
order or national honor, these Euro- 
pean substitutes for the "embattled 
farmers" of old would respond loyally 
at every cost. With the average Amer- 
ican deteriorating physically in the 
Stirling cities, and the farming 
sections, nurseries formerly of noble- 
men and heroes of conflict, turned 
over to a foreign people imbued with 
no deep or heroic sense of patriotism, 
he thought, he said, that it was time 
to call a halt and put only such men 
on guard as would strive to alter and 
better the conditions. 

The speaker referred, briefly, to the 
inpouring of Asiatic tribes to the 
Pacific coast states to the number of 
nearly a thousand every month, who 
were gradually moving eastward across 
the country. With such a stream of 
yellow hordes poured upon our western 
coast and over a million of immigrant 
aliens dumped upon our eastern sea- 
board within the year, was it 
not incumbent upon the native Amer- 
ican, the speaker asked, for him to 
stop and ponder what his position 
would soon be between the upper and 
nether millstones? 

(To be continued) 


The death on August 16th of Mr. 
R. H. Stearns, the Boston merchant, 
makes a wide gap in many walks of 

Mr. Stearns was born in Ashburn- 
ham, Dec. 25, 1824. He began his 
business career in Boston at the age of 
twenty-one, when he accepted employ- 
ment with R. C. Burr at a salary of 
$150 a year. After 
two years he en- 
tered into busi- 
ness for himself, 
and his first year's 
receipts amounted 
to only a few hun- 
dred dollars, but 
the growth into 
the present great 
establishment was 
rapid and con- 

Mr. Stearns was 
called upon to fill 
many positions of 
trust, the most 
important, from a 
financial stand- 
point, being those 
upon the boards 
of directors of the 
National Hide and The i,atb R. h 

Leather Bank and 
the Massachusetts 
Loan and Trust Company. 

In religious affiliations Mr. Stearns 
was a Congregationalist and was prom- 
inently connected with many of the ac- 
tivities of that denomination. He was 
a member of the Old South church, 
where he served for many years as 
deacon, and was at one time superin- 
tendent of the Sunday school, a posi- 
tion afterward held by his son, Richard 
H. Stearns, Jr. He was also one of the 

earliest presidents of the Congrega- 
tional Club of Boston and a member 
for a long time. He was also deeply 
interested in and a generous contribu- 
tor to the Boston city missionary 
society, and a liberal giver to many 
other philanthropies, although as a 
general thing his charities were of a 
quiet character and unknown to the 




The death of 
George Cabot 
Lodge at Tucka- 
nuck Island, Au- 
g u s t 22nd, re- 
moves a widely- 
known and bril- 
liant writer of very 
considerable ac- 
complishment and 
greater promise. 
He was born Oct. 
10, 1873 ; gradu- 
ated from Har- 
vard University, 
and continued his 
studies at the Uni- 
versity of Paris. 
He had served in 
the Spanish War 
and displayed a 
strong aptitude for public life. Some- 
thing of his style of thought and 
literary manner may be gathered from 
the following brief quotation from his 
poem, "Death" :— 

He said: "The refuge of defeat is rest; 
"A soul's dishonor is the price of peace ! 
"From star to star the flight shall never 
cease ; 

Stearns, Esq. 



"The Truth, perforce, is long and last 

and best; 
"Thro' life and death, with bruised, de- 
fenceless breast, 
"We seek the sunrise of the soul's re- 
lease!" — 
And so he lived and almost died, and 

The night, the silence and the solitude 
Left him magnificent and unsubdued — 
And we, who kept the vigil by his side, 
Saw, when at last the door was opened 


Inasmuch as a military expert is fol- 
lowing the militia maneuvres about 
Boston as a special representative of 
The; New England Magazine, and we 
will publish a richly illustrated and 
comprehensive account of them in our 
next issue, we will refrain from other 
comment at this time than to call at- 
tention to the need that has already 
been revealed, although we are now 
writing at the close of the first day of 
active operations. In the more techni- 
cally military discussions that will oc- 
cupy the minds of experts the need of 
good roads may be overlooked. But 
it is a very obvious and pressing one. 
The heavy traffic of military supplies 
and sight-seeing automobiles literally 
tore the roads into ploughed fields. 
Without good roads the automobile as 
a military adjunct may be practically 
eliminated. Good roads are a military 
necessity of the first order, and money 
expended for them is as beneficial in 
peace as in war. 

The 29th Annual Newport Lawn Ten- 
nis Tournament opened Tuesday, Au- 
gust 17th, with the largest number of 
entries in its history. Among the 164 
drawings are champions and ex-cham- 
pions, whose well-known names will 
do much to ensure a large attendance. 
The beautiful courts in the Casino af- 
ford an ideal opportunity for watching 
the games, and the great number of 
young and unknown players will in- 

troduce the exciting element of un- 
certainty. But in lawn tennis the 
chances are always in favor of the 
maintenance of established leadership. 
That this is so is clear evidence that it 
is a game which upbuilds rather than 
exhausts the physique. The fact that 
its champions are able to maintain the 
highest standard of fitness year after 
year, puts the game in the not-too-large 
class of athletic recreations which are 
tonic and helpful. No game that we 
know of possesses less of trickery and 
develops a more cordial feeling of 
friendship between opponents. In set- 
ting, in spirit, in action, it is the game 


The Public Service Commission, of 
New York, has denied the application of 
the Central New England Railway Com- 
pany for consent to execute a mort- 
gage of twenty millions of dollars upon 
the basis of which some twelve millions 
of dollars in bonds were to have been 
issued, largely for the cancellation of 
old interest deficits. This was a part 
ot the re-organization scheme planned 
by the New Haven Railroad. Among 
other reasons for denying the applica- 
tion the decision of the Commission 
says that: "No sufficient reason is 
shown why unpaid interest should be 
made a capital obligation of the appli- 

Such a decision is to be hailed with 
the utmost satisfaction by the com- 
munity of small stock owners whose 
holdings are so often rendered value- 
less by the short-sighted policy that 
has so overloaded our American rail- 
roads and other "financed" enterprises 
with an artificial capital debt. 


Another fairy tale by Grimm for 
grown-up American readers would be 
a proper subtitle for Harold Mac- 



Grath's new romance of the "Goose 
Girl." Were it not for the presence 
of an American consul, the story might 
take wings and fly. As it is, the char- 
acters are all in disguise, unconscious 
or intentional. A prince in disguise 
has fallen in love with the Goose Girl ; 
the American has fallen in love with 
a princess. The demands of state for- 
bid all happiness, when, hey! presto! 
three men in disguise, after a whirlpool 
of intrigue, reveal that the Goose Girl 
is the true princess, and the princess 
but a count's daughter. And they 
married and lived happily ever after. 

To our childhood minds, Grimm's 
fairy princess had no need of character, 
provided that she lived in a palace and 
was superlatively beautiful. The prin- 
cess Hildegarde is a stock princess 
with slight American variations. All 
the personages of the story are, in fact, 
like the pieces in a picture puzzle, con- 
ventional romatic types in themselves, 
but presenting a vital part in the 
construction of the whole. 

Perhaps it is also because -of our 
childhood associations with Grimm that 
we look to Germany as fairy-godmother 
to all goose girls and queens. To Mac- 
Grath's seething plot it gives, at least, 
an appearance of fact. One is haunted 
throughout, however, by the convic- 
tion that the characters are playing to 
the footlights of a dramatized novel, 
and that the nature descriptions are 
directions for stage scenery. 

Yet the very vagueness of scene and 
characterization make of* the "Goose 
Girl" an ideal summer novel. Above 
all, it makes us children again, 
and if, some day, it follows its proto- 
type, the Prisoner of Zenda, to the 
stage, we shall all be ready to clap 
when the "Goose Girl" turns a prin- 


Under the title of a "Dictionary of 
Indian Place and Proper Names in 
New England," Dr. R. A. Douglas- 
Lithgow has collected the most of what 
is known on this subject. "These 
words," says the preface, "represent 

almost all that remains of the ab- 
original inhabitants of this country, — a 
brave, noble and patriotic race." 

The names are arranged first by 
states, beginning with Maine, and 
under each state a simple alphabetical 
arrangement is followed. Discussion 
and differences of opinion are omitted 
and the information given is severely 

To this collection of names is added 
a descriptive list of all the tribes known 
to have inhabited this district and a 
considerable glossary of Abenaki and 
Natick Indian words. 

Dr. Douglas-Lithgow deserves the 
gratitude of historical scholars for this 
painstaking and useful work. It is pub- 
lished by The Salem Press Company, 
Salem, Mass. 

It was with the deepest interest that 
we learned that the interesting articles 
on Switzerland, of which we are this 
month publishing the third and last 
instalment, were from the pen of the 
late George Presbury Rowell, founder 
of "Printer's Ink," Rowell's American 
Newspaper Directory, and up to the 
time of his death one of the foremost 
advertising men in the coutnry. 

In 1906 he published "Forty Years 
an Advertising Agent," a book of fifty- 
two papers which made their first 
appearance in the pages of "Printer's 
Ink," where they were read with such 
deep interest as to create a demand 
for them in a more permanent form. 

The book is the ripe experience of 
a cultured gentleman who had become 
an expert in an important field. 

Mr. Rowell honored and dignified his 
subject because he was himself an 
honor to the work which he had 

The dramatic season promises to 
open with unusual brilliancy in Bos- 
ton, most of the theatres opening on 



Hedwig Reicher, German actress making her debut as an 
English speaking artist in "On the Eve" 

Labor Day, September 6. The Colonial 
will run that old Boston favorite, "The 
Round Up." At the Boston Theatre 
Henry Savage's new musical comedy, 
"The Gay Hussars," will hold the 
boards. At the Hollis, "The Noble 
Spaniard," a three-act farce by W. 
Somerset Mangham, will open the sea- 
son. Of this piece the London critics 
speak in unqualified praise. Even the 
London Times finds the efforts of 
the Noble Spaniard to discover his be- 

loved's husband "continual and uproar 
ious fun." 

This will be followed by "On t| 
Eve," from the German of Leopoh 
Kampf — a play of unusual strength— 
a play-lover's play, in fact. 

At the Majestic, musical comedy wil 
be the opening attraction. At the Park 
"Kegan's Pal," a society play, with ; 
strong record, will attract a larg< 

With tli 



Monthly Letter for New England 

The transportation department of 
the Boston Chamber of Commerce, 
established the first of May, has, after 
only four months, begun to display re- 
markable success in obtaining results. 
The improvement of facilities into and 
out of Boston, both by rail and water, 
is already evident. 

On the 15th of August, the first trip 
of the new 20th Century Limited to 
Chicago was made over the New York 
Central. This means that Boston now 
has the service that has been enjoyed 
by New York for a number of years. 
Six hours have been clipped off the 
running time between Boston and Chi- 
cago. In a round trip, it means consid- 
erably more than a day's worth of a 
business man's time. A man who must 
pay a brief visit to Chicago, for in- 
tance, can do half a day's work in Bos- 
ton and leave on the 20th Century at 
one o'clock, getting his luncheon on the 
train. He will be in Chicago the next 
morning at 8.30, time enough to go to 
his hotel and remove the dust of travel 
and still reach his objective point by 
the time business commences. He may 
devote the better part of the day to 
his errand, take luncheon, perhaps, with 
his customer, and catch the 20th Cen- 
tury back to Boston at 2.30 in the 
afternoon, arriving here ten minutes be- 
fore noon on the second day after he 
left his own office. 

This train was put on through the 
efforts of the transportation department 
of the Chamber of Commerce with the 
co-operation of J. H. Hustis, Manager 
of the Boston & Albany. 

Another trade asset is the establish- 
ment of a direct line to Havana, which 
will mean that Boston shippers to Cuba 
will be able to save considerable 
amount of charges. At present they 
have to ship through New York. With 
the establishment of a new line, they 
will save the cost of sending their goods 
to the metropolis, as. the rate from 
Boston to Havana will, at least, be as 
low as that from New York. Another 
advantage will be the elimination of 
trans-shipment at the New York docks, 
where the goods, not under the eye of 
the Boston shipper, are not always 
handled as satisfactorily as at home. 
The first sailing will be about the mid- 
dle of September. 

When the success of the department 
under Mr. Ives is noted, it is further 
gratifying to learn that he has been 
put in charge, also, of the new depart- 
ment of manufactures and industry, 
This will include the work of the com- 
mittees on fuel supply, transportation, 
industrial development, and possibly 
maritime affairs. It ought to mean 
much for the growth of industry in 
New England. 


The Hartford Board of Trade has ex- 
tended an invitation to the Japanese 
merchants, who are to visit this country 
in September, and whose itinerary in- 
cludes a visit to the chief manufactur- 
ing cities of New England, to come to 
Hartford. We expect them about the 
middle of October, although definite in- 
formation on the trip here has not yet 
been received. Many of the factories 
of this city have extensive Oriental 
trade relations, and the board of trade 




believes that if the merchants from the 
other side of the world are given an 
opportunity to visit these factories the 
result will be of mutual advantage. 

It is intended to take the visitors 
through the works of the Colt Patent 
Fire Arms Company, one of the most 
wonderful plants of its kind in this 
country. The splendid plant of the Un- 
derwood Typewriter Manufacturing 
Company will also be a point of inter- 
est, while the Pratt & Whitney Com- 
pany, manufacturers of machinery, to 
whom the Australian government re- 
cently awarded a big contract over 
English and other firms, will demand 
much attention from the visitors. 
These concerns have all resumed nor- 
mal working conditions ; in fact, some 
of them are working overtime, thus in- 
dicating the return of prosperity. 

In general the industrial situation in 
Hartford is most encouraging at 
present. The Pope Manufacturing 
Company, which recently went through 
a receivership experience, is again on its 1 
financial feet, having paid its creditors 
in full with accrued interest. The Elec- 
tric Vehicle Company has been re- 
organized and is turning out a car that 
is in much demand. 

It is the intention of the Board of 
Trade to resume its "smoke talks" early 
in September, at which topics of vital 
interest to the community will be dis- 
cussed. These gatherings are bene- 
ficial not only because of the publicity 
attending their discussions, but in that 
they keep in action the men whose 
public efforts spell public progress. 



It was only a short time ago that 
Portland Board of Trade received 
scant consideration from our City Gov- 
ernment. If, perchance, the Board had 
the audacity to make a suggestion to 
the municipal authorities, it was con- 
sidered presumptuous and received 
little or no attention. 

Now this feeling was all wrong. In 
municipal affairs the Board of Trade 
should lead the City Government, direct 

its efforts and advise in all matters of 
general importance to the interests of 
the town, whether commercial or other- 

It should always strive to keep in 
the most close and friendly relations 
with the city or town officials, and ad- 
vise with them on all matters of vital 
public interest, and being an absolutely 
non-partisan body, composed of the 
most influential citizens, financially, 
commercially and industrially, their 
counsel should be most cordially re- 
ceived at any and all times. 

Portland Board ignored these rebuffs, 
and made overtures along the lines enu- 
merated above, giving an assurance 
that it had no spirit to dictate or usurp 
the power of the government. 

What was the result? To-day the 
Board of Trade and City Government 
work together as a unit on all public 
issues. Scarcely a question of a public 
nature comes up before either body 
now but that the other is invited to 
co-operate, and the joint committees re- 
present the best material of both organ- 

Now, when the Board believes the 
government should consider a matter 
of public weal, the suggestion is cor- 
dially received and given its most 
serious thought, while on the other 
hand, when an especially knotty prob- 
lem confronts the municipal authorities 
they do not consider it belittling to ad- 
vise with the Board of Trade. At the 
invitation of the City Government, the 
Board often holds public hearings to 
discuss live issues, and from the sen- 
timents there expressed the city of- 
ficials are in a position to act more 
intelligently, having gained a tolerably 
clear idea of what the people favor, re- 
gardless of party lines. 

Portland is fast becoming a great 
convention city. There are many gath- 
erings that require more or less enter- 
tainment. These gatherings almost in- 
variably are brought here on the joint 
invitation of the Board of Trade and 
City Government, and the expense en- 
tailed is always shared jointly by the 
two bodies. 

The Board of Trade, for several years 



Residence E. Anderson, Nashua, N. H. 

past, has been conducting a publicity 
campaign for the benefit of Portland, 
and in this the municipal government 
was loath to participate, necessitating 
the Board, through its advertising com- 
mittee, raising all the funds by a door- 
to-door subscription. This year, how- 
ever, having been convinced of the 
splendid results attained, the govern- 
ment made a liberal appropriation, 
which means a much broader field of 
publicity than heretofore was possible. 

By these closer relations not only has 
the Board's membership been brought 
into closer touch with municipal affairs, 
but it has also awakened in the city 
officials a deeper interest in the Board 
of Trade and its work, with the result 
of an increased membership from the 
ranks of the City Government, a class 
of public spirited men that necessarily 
enhance the working force of the Board. 

It may be that the former distant 
relations existing between the Portland 
Gity Government and the Board of 
Trade is an exception to the general 
rule throughout New England. We 

hope this is so, but if there are other 
communities now existing under sim- 
ilar conditions, no time should be 
wasted in correcting same. Get to- 
gether without delay, for until the two 
bodies are working hand in hand, with 
absolute faith one in the other, it is 
utterly impossible for a city or town to 
grow to its fullest power and glory. 

Portland Board of Trade. 


The innovation adopted by the Bos- 
ton Chamber of Commerce, as noted 
in the August New England Maga- 
zine, ought to become the policy of all 
commercial organizations. A system 
of arbitration, properly carried out, 
ought to be of great value to all such 
bodies, not only in insuring more 
prompt adjustment of differences and 
the lessening of litigation and, conse- 
quently, greatly reduced expense, but 
in the creation of a better feeling 



among business men as well as greatly- 
reducing the pressure upon our courts, 
a very desirable thing. Every com- 
mercial organization should have a 
committee of arbitration and every ef- 
fort should be made to cultivate a 
willingness among the members to 
refer all differences among them to 
this committee. 

The settlement of the tariff ques- 
tion, for a few years, at least, and the 
bright prospects for a busy season, 
should encourage our business men to 
more united action, to the end that 
we of New England may not only re- 
tain what we have but secure as much 
more as possible of the good things 
that are in store for us. If business 
men would everywhere adopt this sys- 
tem of arbitration it would save a large 
percentage of expense. Much good can 
be done by our Boards of Trade in edu- 
cating the people to this system of 
settling disputes. 


Framingham Board of Trade. 


Editor New England Magazine 

Dear Sir: — One of the best evidences 
of the attractiveness of the city of Bur- 
lington, Vt., as a home, is the fact that 
many who have once made it their 
residence, return to make it their per- 
manent home. 

It was my happy lot to be Principal 
of the High School of this city for more 
than six years. I was then called to 
the principalship of the Bridgeport, Ct., 
High School. Ten happy years there 
were soon passed, and a few years later 
I was able to return to Burlington and 
build a home there, in one of the most 
beautiful parts of the charming city on 
which you have lately published a most 
attractively written and illustrated 
article. I want to thank you for it, and 
in response add a few words. 

The city is worthy of notice, not only 
on account of its beauty in detail and 
setting, but because of its exceptional 
social, religious and literary features. 
It has long been famous for its Univer- 
sity, its preachers of marked ability and 
character, its libraries and the genuine- 
ness of its people. Examination of its 
streets, homes and public buildings 
would tend to show the truth of the 
last statement. It is a fine specimen 
of the best type of New England cities, 
and there are few,if any, of the smaller 
cities of our entire country that equal 
or surpass it in beauty or the other 
essentials of a choice residential city. 

Allow me to add that I am exceed- 
ingly pleased with the way you are 
now setting forth the beauties and 
other attractions of our beloved New 

Yours truly, 


Amoskeag Manufacturing Company 
of Manchester 


IT is always difficult even for those 
having most to do with them to 
gather adequate conceptions of the 
significance of large figures. Upon 
the average mind they leave little im- 
pression beyond that of vague wonder ; 
tons of cotton, thousands upon thou- 
sands of whirling spindles and mil- 
lions in wages — we know that all 
this is vast, immense, but after all 
it means little else to us, and that 
is one reason why so familiar an insti- 
tution as the great Amoskeag Manu- 
facturing Company, of Manchester, 
New Hampshire, is really so little 
known, not only to the public in gen- 
eral, but even to the business world. 

At the same time an intelligent ap- 
preciation of such a great industry is 
a very desirable thing to foster and it 
is the purpose of this article to bring 
out the salient facts in such a way 
that they may be grasped. 

A very ingenious and effective plan 
for this purpose was devised by the 
management at the time of a recent 
visit and tour of inspection by a large 
body of business men. January 21, 
1908, one hundred and fifty men, repre- 
senting the wholesalers, buyers and 
jobbers of the dry-goods and dress- 
goods trade of the entire country, made 
a special trip from New York to Man- 
chester for the express purpose of 
visiting the plant of the company. In 
addition to this number about seventy 
representatives of the textile trade 
from Boston and southern New Eng- 

land came up with the officers of the 
Amoskeag Company. 

While the occasion was improved in 
many ways by the visitors, perhaps 
no feature of their entertainment was 
more effective than the exhibit which 
had been brought together of one day's 
product of the entire plant. Closely 
packed as for shipment, the exhibits 
filled a space one hundred and twenty 
feet long by one hundred feet wide, 
stacked in tiers breast high. There 
within range of the eye were sixteen 
thousand pieces of cloth, each con- 
taining about forty 3^ards. Stretched 
out in one piece it would have reached 
from Manchester to New York, or 
made up into clothing, etc., would 
have supplied a very considerable city. 

No less imposing than the quantity 
was the wonderful variety of styles and 
patterns and the excellent quality of 
the goods. In the first tier were shown 
the product of the Langdon Mills, 
where a thousand looms are employed 
in the manufacture of gray and mixed 
goods of the same class as has been 
turned out by this mill since 1870. The 
old trade marks, "G. B." "76," and 
"Alexandria" being among the valu- 
able assets of the corporation. Next 
to this was shown the day's product 
of the famous "A. C. A." ticking from 
the Jefferson Mills, the narrow blue 
and white stripes of which are familiar 
all over the world. These were shown 
in several styles from the light "C" 
ticking to the "XXX" which are used 


for both mattresses and awnings. The 
"A. C. A." labels bear the fac-simile of 
gold medals awarded to the Amoskeag 
Company, one at the London Expo- 
sition in 185 1 and another at the Paris 
Exposition in 1855 and the mainte- 
nance of this international fame is a 
matter of just pride, not only with 
corporation but with its employees. 
Alongside the tickings were shown sev- 
eral hundred cases of indigo blue 
denims running in several styles, and in 
the same section the "Amoskeag A" 
seamless grain bags. Next to these 
were shown the "Outings," napped 
goods, which although of compara- 
tively recent origin have come into 
great popular favor for various grades 
of underwear and dress goods. The 
Amoskeag product in this line includes 
a number of favorite brands and affords 
steady employment for some three 
thousand looms. 

More than two counters across the 
broad hall were used to show one 
day's product of the mills in staple 
ginghams, which the Amoskeag Mills 
began to manufacture about 1867. On 
the next four counters were displayed 
the fancy dress ginghams in all their 
endless variety of color and pattern. 
The Amoskeag Company refrains abso- 
lutely from the use of any color which 
will not stand the hardest test of soap 
and water. Their goods are thoroughly 
washed and shrunk in the finishing 
process, and will stand the severest 
tests. Eight thousand looms are con- 
stantly run in the production of these 
goods. In connection with this ex- 
hibit was that of a large variety of 
plain chambrays and stripes made ex- 
pressly for outing shirts, etc. Four 
counters more were required for the 
daily product of worsteds, the display 
containing ten thousand pieces. This is 
a comparatively new line for the Amos- 
keag Company, but the quantity turned 
out is enormous and the cloths are all 
staple fabrics dyed in a very great 
number of shades. 

When we realize that this great ex- 
hibit in all its variety and quantity re- 
presents but one single day's work, we 
can more readily understand how the 

population of a city is employed in 
its production and can gather some 
idea of the army of experts required 
and of the great executive ability which 
the management of this great corpora- 
tion demands. We are also better pre- 
pared to listen to big figures. 

The most recent tabulation of statis- 
tics given out by the company is as 
follows : 

The capital invested is $5,760,000 

Total number of employees .... 13.000 

Men 6,000 

Women 7,000 

The weekly pay roll is $1 12,000 

Number of spindles 600,000 

Number of looms 20,000 

Yards of cloth woven per annum, 

cotton, 200,000,000 

Yards of cloth woven per annum, 

worsted 20,000,000 

Number of bags woven per annum 1,630,000 
Number of pounds of cotton con- 
sumed per annum 48,000,000 

Number of pounds of wool con- 
sumed per annum 10,400,000 

It is interesting also to note that 
the great water wheels, thirty-four in 
number, furnished 16,488 horse-power 
and the 146 steam boilers consume 
100,000 tons of coal per annum and 
furnish 22,000 horse power. This is 
the mechanical power which turns 
these thousands of spindles and looms. 
Back of this lies the brain power of 
hundreds of skilled employees and par- 
ticularly of the executive heads. The 
business management of the corpora- 
tion is carried on from the Boston of- 
fice and in under the direction of Mr. 
Frederic C.Dumaine, Treasurer of the 
company, while the mills are under the 
superintendency of Mr. William 
Parker Straw. Mr. Herman F. Straw 
is the agent. 

The early history of the Amoskeag 
Company is full of interest. 

The real start in the cotton indus- 
try in Manchester was made back in 
1809, when Benjamin Prichard came 
here after attempting to make cotton 
goods in New Ipswich, and at the old 
Goffee place at Bedford, and forming 
a partneiship with Ephraim, David and 
Robert Stevens, built a small mill on 
the west side of the falls at Amoskeag 
village. The next year a stock com- 


pany was organized, first called the 
"Amoskeag Cotton and Wool Factory" 
and afterward incorporated as the 
"Amoskeag Cotton and Woolen Manu- 
facturing Company." 

The agent of the first corporation re- 
ceived a salary of $180 a year and a 
good weaver could earn thirty-six cents 
a day. The mill was without pickers 
or looms, the cotton being picked and 
the yarn woven in the neighborhood. 
Dividends did not materialize so abun- 
dantly as anticipated by these pioneers 
in the field and after carrying on the 
business until 1815 at no profit, there 
was not much done until 1822, when 
Olney Robinson came here from Prov- 
idence, R. I., and started up the mill 
again. Larned Pitcher and Samuel 
Slater, of Providence, had Sol Robin- 
son's machinery and loaned him money, 
and when Robinson failed to make the 
venture pay they came into possession. 

Prospects brightened materially in 
1825, when Messrs. Sayles, Tiffany, 
Dean and Gay were admitted to part- 
nership. The three first named had 
been engaged in manufacturing in 
Massachusetts, and besides the prac- 
tical experience gained there they 
brought plenty of capital with which to 
carry on the business. Dr. Dean be- 
came the agent of the firm and re- 

moved to Manchester in 1826, to de- 
vote his entire attention to promoting 
the interests of the company. 

The charter of the Amoskeag Manu- 
facturing Company was granted by 
the New Hampshire legislature, July 
1, 1831. The act of the legislature 
which made possible a capitalization 
of $1,000,000 was accepted twelve days 
later by Ira Gay, Willart Sayles, Oliver 
Dean, Larned Pitcher and Lyman 
Tiffany, the latter acting also as at- 
torney for Samuel Slater. At a meet- 
ing the next day, July 14, by-laws were 
adopted and the organization perfected, 
Mr. Tiffany being elected president; 
Mr. Gay, clerk; Mr. Dean, agent, and 
Messrs. Tiffany, Gay and Sayles, direc- 

All of these incorporators were prac- 
tical mill men, and four of them, Mr. 
Pitcher being the exception, had been 
identified with the mills in Manchester 
for six years before 1631, in the course 
of which time the possibilities of Man- 
chester as a cotton manufacturing 
center had been borne to them. The 
company started off with very promis- 
ing prospects and from the beginning 
wise management made for the con- 
tinued expansion of the industry which 
has resulted in the mammoth business 
of to-dav. 

Getting Close to the Public 



IF John Magee could walk down 
Summer Street, Boston, this even- 
ing, with what mingled feelings 
might he survey the two gigantic elec- 
tric signs which proclaim his name 
to the passing throng at the corner 
of Otis Street. And what would be 
his astonishment as he looked into the 
brilliantly-lighted interior of Number 
64 and saw there such an array of 
heating and cooking appliances as he 
never dreamed of when he started his 
small stove foundry fifty-three years 

These beautiful and artistic quarters 
at 64 Summer Street are the new ex- 
hibition rooms of the Magee Furnace 
Company, of Boston, the company to 
which John Magee gave the name and 
the impetus more than half a century 
ago, and which has inherited from its 
sturdy Scotch founder the honesty, the 
sincerity and the enterprise which 
have enabled it to become sponsor for 
the largest line of heating and cooking 
apparatus under one name in the 
United States. 

Go into the kitchen of a New Eng- 
land farm-house, and you will find the 
motherly house- 
wife, with the aid 
of her Magee 
Range, turning 
out delicious gin- 
gerbread or lus- 
cious baked beans 
such as "grandma 
used to make" in 
the old brick oven. 
Provide yourself 
with a passport to 
the hotel's cuisine. 
There you will 
find the autocratic 

The store which marks a new era — 
It is compeeteey stocked but 


chef directing his assistants as they 
prepare the coming meal on Magee 
Hotel Ranges. Visit the suburban 
homes, from modest bungalow to most 
pretentious mansion, and you will find 
that they, as well as the office struc- 
tures in the business section, are kept 
at the required temperature by means 
of Magee Heaters. 

When you have seen all these evi- 
dences of its truth, you will begin to 
realize that there are some grounds for 
the Magee Company's claim: "The 
New England Standard for Over Fifty 

It would at first seem difficult for a 
manufacturing concern to get nearer 
to its public than was this one with 
its countless agents and extensive ad- 
vertising, yet there was still much to 
be desired. The wholesale sample 
rooms were not centrally located with 
reference to the general public and 
this caused the Company to take a 
radical step, with the result that last 
month Boston saw, for the first time, 
the magnificent exhibition rooms of 
its largest range and heater manufac- 
turing company opened in the heart of 
the retail district. 
These rooms of 
the Magee Fur- 
nace Company are 
for exhibition pur- 
poses only — a 
place where any 
Magee agent may 
bring his pros- 
pective customers,, 
and where the 
general public is 
always welcome to 
inspect a repre- 
sentative assort- 



ment of the Magee Products. Skilled 
demonstrators are always on hand to 
give practical illustrations of the work- 
ing of the various heating and cooking 

John Magee's modest little establish- 
ment of 1856 has grown to a twelve- 
acre plant located on the water front 
in Chelsea, where it miraculously es- 
caped the great conflagration of 1908. 
Here a small army of workmen are 
constantly employed, and the entente 
cordiale existing between employers and 
employees is but an evolution of the 
spirit of good-fellowship which pre- 
vailed between John Magee and his 
workmen when they labored side by 
side in the early days. 

The making of a Magee range or 
heater is not a haphazard operation. 
Before a new model of any Magee 
product is brought out, highly-skilled 
and highly-paid experts have been at 
work for weeks, perhaps months, plan- 
ning and sketching and making the 
patterns, and figuring out to a mathe- 
matical nicety just what the new ap- 

paratus will do and how it will do it. 
Even the iron from which the parts are 
cast must be of a certain chemical com- 
bination. It is also essential that the 
finished product be artistic, but in the 
Magee lines there is a pleasing ab- 
sence of ostentatious and useless dis- 

The Magee products have won some 
thirty-odd medals, diplomas and 
awards, the first having been given 
them at the Centennial in 1876. The 
Company has distributing agents in 
all the important cities in the country, 
and its products are well known in 
every state in the Union. 

While the Magee Furnace Company 
is the first in its line in this section to 
open exhibition rooms in the retail 
district of a big city, the idea is fast 
becoming popular in all lines of manu- 
facture, and is indicative of the grow- 
ing and welcome belief among manu- 
facturers that their retailers' success, 
and consequently their own, is, in a 
large measure, dependent on how close 
they, themselves, get to the public. 


The Great Boston Exposition 



NEW ENGLAND has always 
been known as the home of 
the thrifty housewife, she who 
not only knows how to make the dain- 
tiest doughnuts, the most appetizing 
"apple sass" and bake the best pot of 
beans, roast the most succulent ribs to 
"the turn," baste the browning turkey 
to just the right 
point of delicacy 
but care in a mas- 
terly way for the 
thousand and one 
things that go to 
make up the well- 
ordered and com- 
fortable homes 
wherein dwell 
in peace and 
security the in- 
telligent, edu- 
cated, self-reliant 
people of New 
England. It has 
been said that the 
New England 
housewife never 
sleeps, a declara- 
tion probably born 
in envy of her 
marvelous achieve- 
ments by drones 
in the social bee- 
hive. During her 
waking hours, it is 
safe to assert, she is always thinking, 
planning and doing. She spells luck 
with four letters, but not the ones 
some people use— W-O-R-K are the 
factors of the alphabet she utilizes and 
suiting the action to the word has 
brought her wonderful results. She 
finds out how her neighbors do things 
and endeavors to improve upon their 

Marco Vesseu,a 


theories and performances. Nine cases 
out of ten she does do better, may be 
only a trifle, yet still an advance. 

While she learns many things from 
nearby friends, it was found many 
years ago, that much more knowledge 
in domestic science was to be obtained 
at conferences of her kind, so there 
naturally followed 
the village society, 
first restricted to 
her own sex, but 
soon developing 
into the town, the 
district or the 
county fair. These 
were and are 
well enough in 
their way, but she 
was not content nor 
was her sterner 
helpmate. They 
not only sought 
greater sources of 
information but 
larger and better 
markets for the 
fruits of their 
mental and phys- 
ical toil. So there 
came into being 
the great New 
England Food 
Fair and its latest 
triumph, bearing 
the significant title — Annual New Eng- 
land Food and Home Furnishing Ex- 
position. These . Expositions, held 
in Boston, the metropolis of New 
England, easily reached such mag- 
nitude that an immense building 
was erected, at a cost of many thou- 
sands of dollars, purposely for displays 
of the outputs of the brain and the 


C. H. Green 



brawn mainly of New Englanders, 
but frequently supplemented by collec- 
tions of the best possible to obtain any- 
where in the universe. 

Mechanics Building, on Huntington 
Avenue, Boston, is known all over the 
United States and Canada as the home 
of the Great Annual New England 
Food and Home Furnishing Exposi- 
tion. It is the largest exposition build- 
ing in the world. Few realize what it 
means to plan and carry such an elab- 
orate and tremendous undertaking to 
successful fruition. The "Fair" for this 
year is to be held for the five weeks 
beginning Steptember 27th and ending 
October 30th. The preliminary work 
by the exhibitors alone, including the 
designing, the building and the decor- 
ating of exhibit booths, necessitates the 
employment of architects, designers, 
decorators, sign painters, carpenters, 
plumbers and electricians — all skilled 
artisans — to the number of 2000, whose 
average daily wage for the two weeks 
previous to the opening of the doors 
is not less than $5 each. During the 
progress of the Exposition not less 

than 3000 persons are employed in 
various capacities, and these command 
salaries that average $3 each every day. 
In addition to this the management ex- 
pends for music not less than $1000 
every day and for other entertainment 
a like sum of money. These figures, 
say nothing of the cost of rental 
of this vast building, its lighting 
and heating, newspaper and other ad- 
vertising, printing of all sorts, expendi- 
ture for illustrations, and other avenues 
for cutting heavily into receipts too 
numerous to record here. 

The advance work for such an expo- 
sition as the one in question begins 
almost as soon as the previous "Fair" 
has closed its doors. For nearly a year 
there is the hardest kind of effort by 
skilled managers and enterprising labor 
of a co-operative kind by merchants 
and producers in various sections of 
New England. Then comes the work 
of decorating, great in itself, for it 
must consider picturesque effects and 
material results. Everywhere all along 
the line the right man has to be in 
the right place and the right thing has 


to be done at the right moment. Above 
all things the direction of affairs has to 
be of the most ambitious, most enter- 
prising, most positive, most certain 
character. There is no doubt about 
this particular in the Third Annual 
New England Food and Home Fur- 
nishing Exposition with Messrs. C. H. 
Green and E. J. Rowe at the helm. It 
has been due to the business sagacity 
of these two gentlemen that the people 
of New England have been enabled the 
past two years to see the largest and 
most comprehensive collection of ex- 
hibits every displayed within the walls 
of the Mechanics Building and every 
indication points to a breaking of 
records this year by a wide margin. 

Some idea of what such an assertion 
means can be gathered when it is 
known that the attendance in 1907 and 
1908, at the expositions held under the 
same management, reached the enor- 
mous total of 1,166,224 (one million, 
one hundred and sixty-six thousand, 
two hundred and twenty-four) persons, 
which is the world's record for any 
similar exposition. 

As in every well-balanced business 
firm the work of Messrs. Green and 
Rowe is divided. Mr. Green is a well- 
known advertising expert, having been 
associated with a number of the largest 
food manufacturers in the country. It 
was through his efforts that shredded 
wheat was developed to its present 

Equally prominent in this combina- 
tion is the work of Mr. Rowe, who is 
one of the best-known amusement men 
in the United States. His early train- 
ing in the theatrical and newspaper 
field has made him especially qualified 
to arrange amusements and attractions 
that are of concern to the public. It 
is the universal opinion that the New 
England Food Fair and Home Fur- 
nishing Exposition of last year was the 
best advertised and contained the best 
amusement features of any former ex- 
position held in this country. 

The casual visitor at a Food Fair 
can little appreciate the prodigious 
amount of thought and labor necessary 
to bring such an enterprise to a suc- 

cessful conclusion. The hearty en- 
dorsement given by the public by 
its presence is a source of gratifica- 
tion to the management, but what is 

Beeee Yeaton Renfrew 
leader oe bostonia women's orchestra 

appreciated most is the quick and loyal 
co-operation by and among the exhibi- 
tors. Messrs. Green and Rowe have 
always had that, as their record of 35 


highly successful expositions, held in 
different sections of the country, fully 
proves. The fact that they have been 
selected for the third time by the 
Massachusetts Retail Grocers and 
Provision Dealers' Association, to man- 
age this great exposition in Mechanics 
Building, speaks volumes in praise of 
their conduct of every one of the 
numerous and intricate details of such 
a colossal work and of the glorious 
triumph of the achievement in its en- 

And here a word must be said of 
the public spirit and enterprise of this 
association of citizens respected and 
honored in the various communities in 
which they live and transact business 
with their fellowmen. The success 
which has crowned the efforts of the 
working committee of this flourishing 
organization the past two years has 
been a source of great pride to them 
and to their fellow members and their 
legion of friends. 

David Gerow, of Lowell, is president 
of the Association and chairman of the 
Exposition Committee ; A. C. Dowse is 
the secretary; A. T. Faunce, of North 
Abington, is the treasurer, and associ- 
ated with them on the Executive Com- 
mittee are H. W. Mansfield, of South 
Braintree; W. K. Hutchinson, of 
Arlington, and W. C. Walker, of 
Wakefield. The Massachusetts Retail 
Grocers and Provision Dealers' Asso- 
ciation has a membership of over 500, 
representing 100 individual cities and 
towns throughout Massachusetts and 
its expositions under the management 
of Messrs. Green and Rowe have been 
notable for the elimination of every 
possible objectionable feature and for 
the winning of the confidence of ex- 
hibitors and public. 

These Expositions have always been 
distinguished for the high-class char- 
acter of what might, perhaps, be called 
the purely amusing and entertaining 
features and the Exposition of 1909 
will not be found lacking in this res- 
pect. Music, as usual, will be one of 
the chief attractions, and sweet melody, 
by skilled musicians, will fill all the 
halls of the Mechanics Building for 

about every minute of the day while 
the doors are open. 

The famous band of Marco Vessella, 
made up of fifty of the very finest 
Italian musicians and soloists in Ameri- 
ca, will give concert in Grand Hall 
every afternoon and evening. Every- 
where this band has appeared, the 
critics of the newspaper prass have given 
it the warmest kind of analytic approval. 

Vessella, as was to be expected, is 
of picturesque individuality, lacking, 
however, in many of the acrobatic 
qualities of some of his fellow Italian 
bandmasters, and directs his forces 
with quiet but effective methods that 
win him and his organization the loyal 
favor of those who understand and ap- 
preciate good music properly inter- 

The other band is the famous Belle 
Yeaton Renfrew's Bostonia Woman's 
Orchestra, also of 50 pieces. For seven 
years this organization has toured the 
United States and Canada and last year 
was the big, particular hit of the great 
exposition at Pittsburg. All of the 
young ladies are most talented and are 
graduates of various academies and 
conservatories of the United States and 
Canada. They dress in exquisite taste 
and will surely produce a very decided 
and most satisfying attraction. Be- 
sides being a gifted leader, Mrs. Ren- 
frew is a remarkable trombonist and 
plays this instrument in conjunction 
with her orchestra either as a soloist 
or with the brass quartet, the other 
members of which are S. Ella Morse, 
cornet; Grace Mae Morse, solohorn, 
and Alice Florence Morse, horn. 

The management has arranged with 
D. M. Shooshan, Boston's well-known 
caterer, to conduct the restaurant, 
located in Talbot Hall, on the balcony 
floor of the building. This restaurant 
is arranged to accommodate 600 people 
at one time and Mr. Shooshan's man- j 
agement for the past two years has 
made it very popular with the new j 
England public. This down-to-date | 
moderate-priced restaurant is a great | 
convenience to the public, 50 per cent 
of whom spend the entire day at the 
Fair. In addition to the restaurant a 



David Gerow 

president oe the association and 
chairman exposition committee 

opular-priced lunch counter will be 
Dund on the lower floor of the building. 
A most important engagement has 
List been concluded with Booker T. 
Vashington, whereby he will send to 
he Exposition sixteen of his best 
ingers from his Tuskegee Institute at 
^uskegee, Alabama. These Tuskegee 
ubilee Singers are pronounced, by- 
hose who know, to be the greatest in 
his country and immediately after the 
•air is over will make a tour of the 
/orld. Charles Winter Wood will ac- 
ompany the Tuskegee Jubilee Singers 
nd will give a short talk on the life 
rork of Washington and will also give 
outhern sketches which, with the plan- 
ation melodies by the quartette, will 
lake up a very entertaining program. 
Ir Washington himself will be at the 
Exposition for a couple of days or more. 

A. C. Dowse 


J. W. Gorman's old-time circus will 
be one of the strong attractions at the 
Fair. The very best acts obtainable 
of an acrobatic, trick and comedy char- 
acter, will be presented in an environ- 
ment as near like that of the sawdust 
arena of the "big top" as can be simu- 
lated within the walls of a building. 
There will be moving picture theatres 
with the very latest films and the very 
latest illustrated songs of a sentimental 
and humorous sort and upon all sides 
such a complexity of sights and sounds, 
as to not only entertain and educate 
but to fairly bewilder every one of the 
many thousands of visitors to the Third 
Annual Food Fair and Home Exposi- 
tion of 1909, held in Mechanics Build- 
ing, Boston, for the five weeks begin- 
ning September 27th and ending Octo- 
ber 30th. 


The first Educator Cracker was made nearly twenty-fin 
years ago. 

Since then, many other Educator Foods have been pe 
fected, all having three unusual merits in common : 

(1) A flavor that everybody likes. 

(2) High food value and thorough wholesomeness an 


(3) Scientifically perfect baking and the choicest material 

The habit of eating Educator Foods is a form of real, the 
simple, health insurance. 


Educator Wafers are crisp, thin, deli 
ious whole wheat water crackers. Th< 
have a flavor that never palls. Especial 
good with cheese. 

Educator Toasterettes are similar to tl 
Wafers, but are toasted, buttered ai 
salted. They are a revelation to the ej 
cure, and have a place wholly their ov 
in the cracker world. 

Educator Golden Maize Crackers a 

made of golden corn meal and Educat 
Whole Wheat Flour, slightly sweeten< 
and shortened. They are general favo 
ites because of their taste and great fo( 
value ; especially good for growing bo 
and girls. 


U 6 Q.U. XI I ill 

New Eivglaixd 




■ . 


Photograph by E. M. Astle 

''The road to grandfather's 

MM» *>iL*); Cj ' 






' Wr*5l 

f .I'll 




1* * 


- „ -- : « 








. R 

% .A 

v\ \ 


j; -*wj 

Photograph by J. A. Webb 

In beautiful Winchester 

Photograph hy Miss Lois Howe 

MT. Chocorua From the river 

— rr"- •_■■ .jna 


Photograph by Miss Lois Howe 

Chocorua, Sandwich dome 

Photograph hy J. A. Webb 


Photograph by J. A. Webb 

October days on the upper Charles River 

Bben D. Jordan, Esq., of Boston 

From a recent photograph by Dupont, Newport 

New England Magazine 

Toi. XLL 

OCTOBER, 1909 

Number 2 

The New Boston Opera and its 



THE city of Boston, long pre- 
eminent in other musical 
forms, has never had the op- 
portunity for the sane and satisfactory 
njoyment of grand opera. Its great 
orchestra has for decades been the 
)est in the country, and one of the 
>est in the world. It was for many 
fears the home of the finest string 
quartet America could boast. Its 
:horal societies, old and new, were of 
excellent quality, producing the best 
)f ancient and modern compositions, 
ts chief conservatory had and has no 
>eer in the United States. In a word, 
he musical spirit of the town has long 
>een firm, pervasive, and powerful, 
)ften creating what it demanded and 
x>uld find nowhere else. 

But Boston's grand opera has 
ilways been taken in fitful doses, with 
hat species of hysteria that haste and 
he feeling of assisting at a very 
imited social function are bound to 
engender. For two weeks each winter 
)r spring the great companies from the 
VTetropolitan Opera House in New 
^ork (and for a few seasons Mr. Dam- 
•osch's fine aggregations) have held 
orth, either in the barn-like Mechan- 
cs Hall or in the far more fitting, but 
still not ideal, Boston Theatre. 

Thus compelled to compress their 
whole year's opera into the space 

of twelve days, the people of the most 
musical city in America would emerge 
from the tonal debauch as from an- 
other sort — sated, impatient, even 
abusive. It was not very edifying — 
the result of this kind of opera, but it 
was the best that seemed possible and 
it was endured with resignation. 

Of course, the dream of permanent 
opera in an appropriate home of its 
own was ever present in the minds of 
some of the apostles of musical art. 
They knew well enough the refining 
and educating influence of such an in- 
stitution on the body politic and the 
enormous advantages it would pre- 
sent to students. 

The story of the inception of the 
Boston Opera Company is interesting, 
and for that reason I trust I may be 
pardoned for intruding almost neces- 
sary personalities into the relating 
of it. 

When Mr. Russell came to Boston 
for the first time with his company, in 
the spring of 1907, and gave those 
memorable performances at the Park 
Theatre, my attention was called to 
the excellence of these performances 
by my son, and on attending them, I 
was much impressed with the artistic 
work of the singers and the quiet force 
with which Mr. Russell managed 
what may now well be called that 




campaign of education. Probably even 
then the germ of the permanent opera 
idea was beginning to stir in other 
minds than my own. 

In the autumn of that same year, 
Mr. Russell came again to America 
in advance of the voyage of the San 
Carlo Company from Europe. He had 
booked the San Carlo Company for 
three weeks in the Majestic Theatre, 
but was unable to carry on his rehear- 
sals there, on account of the other 
attractions which were booked in 
advance of his. Mr. Russell, having 
met Mr. Ralph L. Flanders, the man- 
ager of the New England Conserva- 
tory of Music, during his previous 
engagement the spring before, went 
to him and stated his difficulty regard- 
ing his preliminary rehearsals. Mr. 
Flanders immediately offered him the 
use of the Conservatory halls and re- 
hearsal rooms, and for three weeks the 
company rehearsed at this institution. 
I was at that time at the Hot Springs 
in Virginia, and Mr. Russell came to 
me there in rather a vexatious posi- 
tion, as he held paper for a consider- 
able amount of money and was unable 
to negotiate it. It was the famous 
panic month of October. New York 
trust companies were crashing into 
failure, national banks were tottering 
on the verge of ruin, and clearing 
house certificates were the order of 
the day. Here I was glad to be of 
some service to the man I was already 
beginning to admire. 

During the three weeks of rehearsal 
at the Conservatory Mr. Russell, Mr. 
Flanders, and myself had many con- 
sultations and formulated plans for the 
permanent establishment of opera in 
Boston. Finally, the company opened 
at the Majestic Theatre, and Mr. Rus- 
sell's second season of opera in Boston 
is still vividly remembered. Every 
performance was well patronized. The 
city's most representative in musical 
circles were among those present. Few 
of the Metropolitan performances had 
been more brilliant or more enthusias- 
tically appreciated. And the leaven 
of permanent opera was working 
vigorously, as the result proved, in the 

minds of the people as well as in th 
minds of the three men who had a] 
ready formulated plans for it. 

At this time at a meeting in Mi 
Flanders' office at the Conservatory, 
offered to build an opera house if Mi 
Russell would undertake its artisti 
direction, and Mr. Flanders woul« 
assume its business management. Mi 
Frederick S. Converse, the composei 
had been interested in the project fror 
the beginning, and he assumed th 
responsibility of getting subscription 
for the fifty-four boxes which it wa 
then planned to have in the theatre, a 
I desired to have the boxes subscribe< 
before taking further action toward 
building the opera house. Mr. Con 
verse's efforts in this direction me 
with immediate success, and the entir 
forty-six boxes were quickly sub 
scribed. At this time G. Richmon< 
Fearing and Col. Charles Haydei 
became interested in the enterprise 
and a committee composed of Mi 
Fearing, Mr. Hayden, Mr. Converse 
Mr. Flanders, Mr. Robert Jordan, an< 
myself was formed. With this com 
mittee the business details of th 
enterprise were rapidly gotten unde 
way. A stock company was forme< 
with a capitalization of $200,ooc 
and shares were offered to the public 
each share carrying the privilege o 
subscribing for a season ticket ii 
advance of the general opera goers 
for as many years as the share wa 
held. In one week's time $48,200 wa 
received from the sale of shares, and ii 
less than six months over $150,001 
stock was subscribed, and subscrip 
tions are still being received. Th 
success of the thing that once seeme< 
impossible was assured. The faith 
a few was justified. 

Meantime, the artistic side of th* 
enterprise was sent ahead with all du< 
speed. Mr. Russell went abroad t< 
spend a year in searching the high 
ways and byways of musical Europ< 
for singers to add to his already dis 
tinguished list. Mr. Flanders, the gen 
eral manager, looked after affairs ii 
Boston. Mr. P. B. Haven; of Wheel 
wright and Haven, the architects 

Photograph by Chickering 

Henry RussEUv, director 



and I set out on a tour of inspec- 
tion of all the great opera houses 
abroad, that the best features of each 
might be incorporated into the new 
building whose site had already been 
selected on Huntington avenue, not far 
from Symphony Hall and the New 
England Conservatory of Music. Mr. 
Robert Jordan, secretary of the board 
of directors, also spent some time 
across the water gleaning a good deal 
of information as to the conduct of 
opera in foreign capitals, Mr. Converse, 
during a sojourn in Europe, gave valu- 
able assistance to us all. 

During my absence I received a 
cablegram from Mr. Flanders, in 
which he stated that the subscrip- 
tions to boxes were in excess of 
our capacity, and the subscriptions to 
stock was such as to warrant, in his 
opinion, the enlargement of the opera 
house. I immediately cabled him my 
approval of this suggestion, and Mr. 
Wheelwright and Mr. Hoyt of the 
firm of Wheelwright and Haven, who 
were working out the plans in Boston, 
while keeping in touch with Mr. 
Haven, were instructed to change 
their plans and the boxes were in- 
creased from forty-six to fifty-four, 
and the seating capacity of the house 
from 2200 to 2700. 

The corner-stone of the new opera 
house was laid November 30th, 1908, 
with a minimum of ceremony and a 
maximum of enthusiastic hope. In 
spite of a few of the usual unforeseen 
delays and a small taste of labor diffi- 
culties, it is now almost completed, 
and it will be ready for the first 
performance of the company, the 
presentation of "La Gioconda," on the 
evening of November 8th. For that 
performance few seats remain unsub- 
scribed, and it is still something of a 
problem what to do with the distin- 
guished critics from all over the 
United States and portions of Europe, 
who have a natural desire to lend their 
presence to what is reasonably ex- 
pected to be another of Boston's music 

The house itself we believe to be the 
last word in convenience, utility, and 

beauty. Magnificence is, of course, 
not aimed at; the splendor of the im- 
mensely subsidized institutions, as in 
Paris and Berlin, would in itself defeat 
the whole intent of the Boston Opera 
Company, which is to furnish high- 
class grand opera at a moderate price, 
in a home of visual charm, and 
esthetic satisfaction. The exterior of 
the building is dignified and eloquent 
in its semi-classic. 

Its red brick and terra cotta and 
strongly recessed Grecian pillars sat- 
isfy the eye and the sense of the fitness 
of things at once. Here is the one 
opera house in the new world that 
looks its part. Much artistic tone will 
be given the exterior by the three 
panels for the facade made by Bela 
Pratt, the sculptor of many triumphs. 
Here will be seen the chiselled repre- 
sentations of the dance, music, drama. 

Within this new temple of art is 
a combination of excellent features 
found in no other opera house in this 
country. There is, for instance, no 
orchestra circle, but in its place a tier 
of boxes somewhat resembling those 
at Covent Garden and corresponding 
to the "baignoires" at the Theatre 
Francais in Paris. And around the 
whole auditorium sweeps a splendid 
crescent-shaped promenade, a reversal 
to an older but never improved form 
of theatre building. There is a second 
complete tier of boxes and others in 
which seats may be purchased by the 
general public above them and nearer 
the stage. The full seating capacity 
of the house is 2700, and every indi- 
vidual of that number will be enabled 
not only to hear an opera, but to see 
it. No pillar or post mars the fine 
sweep of floor or balconies. 

At the time of this writing the inte- 
rior decorations have not been made, 
so that no actual estimate of the final 
appearance of the auditorium can be 
presented. But enough is known to 
warrant the assurance that the first 
great audience to be gathered on the 
evening of November 8th will find a 
color scheme of refined beauty and 
ornamentations of almost classic sim- 
plicity and artistic appeal. There will 

Photograph by Notrnan 

Rai,ph L. Flanders, general manager 





garishness, and 
encrusted over- 

be warmth without 
adornment without 

Being the proscenium, the care and 
attention to detail that has marked 
the conduct of the whole enterprise 

Frances Aijda, soprano 

jus far will be fully in evidence. 
Vvery modern improvement has been 
ncorporated in the ample stage, and 
ts equipment of machinery is such 
hat operas can be presented scenically 

Is thev have never heen in Rnutnn 

before. Thus we believe the perfectly 
rounded performance is near at hand. 
People of high rank have been 
chosen to help bring this happy state 
of affairs about. There is Menotti, the 
re'gisseur general, for instance. For 
years he was a singer 
in Italian opera, then 
changed his vocation 
to become a stage 
manager, becoming 
highly successful. 
His last post was 
that of regisseur of 
the Imperial Opera 
House in Odessa, 
from which place his 
release was obtained 
by Mr. Russell not 
without some diplo- 
macy. Menotti is 
filled with a contagi- 
ous enthusiasm at 
the prospect of as- 
sisting in the estab- 
lishing of permanent 
opera in the most 
musical city in the 
new world. 

Conti, the chef 
d'orchestre, is a con- 
ductor who has fully 
proven his value. He 
has conducted opera 
in Paris, Buenos 
Ayre-, London, and 
Rome, and in the 
latter city he had the 
distinction of being 
the first to conduct 
there a Wagner 
music-drama. Upon 
Conti will devolve 
the responsibility of 
the musical interpre- 
tation of each opera, 
including full author- 
ity over the work of 
the singers. Another 
conductor will be Mr. Wallace Good- 
rich, long known to us in Boston and 
beyond as organist and choral leader. 
Much attention will be paid to the 
perfection of the ballet, and here again 

ic cVin^m rh*=» infprpcf in flip rMilrnratinn 

Crist' ■<■ 

Ramon B^anchart, baritone Feey DerEyne, soprano 

Fi<orencio Constantino 
auce neii.sen, prima dona soprano jane noria, dramatic soprano 



of American talent which is being 
fostered in this organization. Forty 
Boston girls have been in training for 
a year under the direction of Madame 
Muschietto, who has danced in all 
the leading opera centers of the 
world. This ballet will be augmented 
by a number of dancers from Europe. 
Madame Muschietto has been assisted 
in this work by Maria Paporello, who 
has been one of the dancers in the lead- 
ing opera houses of America. 

And the singers? Upon them, nat- 
urally, chief public interest centers. 
What is their calibre to be; to what 
extent are they thus far distinguished ; 
to what degree will they thrill their 
audiences as well as satisfy the artistic 
demands of the "cogniscenti"? In 
reply it may be said that although the 
"star" system is tabooed in our plans, 
many of the people engaged belong by 
right in the ranks of the irridescent. 
And of the others there is much prom- 
ise, based upon the expert knowledge 
of the director of the enterprise. This 
much we maintain ; that the casts will 
be always adequate, often superb, and 
that the ensemble of each performance 
will be a constant source of satisfac- 
tion, if not surprise. 

The soprano section is particularly 
strong. There is Frances Alda, an 
attractive young singer, who has ap- 
peared with success at La Scala in 
Milan and the Metropolitan Opera 
House in New York. There is Celes- 
tina Buoninsegna, a dramatic artist 
of the "New Italy" school ; Fely 
Deresne, the French soprano, whose 
fascinating "Musette" is well remem- 
bered by Bostonians who heard Mr. 
Russell's performance of "Boheme"; 
Mathilda Lewicka, a Polish singer 
who has achieved fame in her own 
country and who hopes to persuade 
the director to produce at least one 
opera written by a Polish composer; 
Lydia Lipkowska, whose photographs 
truly bear out the most enthusiastic 
claims as to her beauty, and who had 
a resounding success as "Lakme" in 
a recent revival of Delibes' work at 
the Opera Comique in Paris ; Alice 
Neilson, the ensrasinp- lvric soprano, of 

whom all Americans are proud ; Lil- 
lian Nordica, greatest of our native dra- 
matic singers, and Jane Noria,a soprano 
of temperament whose charm has been 
felt by Boston audiences before. 

The contraltos include Maria Claes- 
sens, a Belgian, now appearing in the 
Colon Theatre in Buenos Ayres. 
Mine. Claessens is the wife of a Ger- 
man army officer, and her daughter is 
now being educated in one of the semi- 
naries near Boston. Anna Meitschik 
a Russian, was educated at Moscow 
and has sung in most of the great 
opera houses of Europe. Her voice 
and style are said to resemble those 
of Mme. Schumann-Heink. 

The tenor aggregation, upon which, 
rightly or wrongly, so much actually 
depends in the matter of popular 
favor, gives every indication of artistic 
power. Many nations contribute to 
the list. Eduard Bourillon is a French- 
man, with a large reputation for his 
work in the modern opera of his 
country. Edmond Clement, another 
singer from the land of the Gauls, 
excels in lyric roles. He recently 
achieved success in the new opera, 
"Quo Vadis," produced at Nice. Of 
Florencio Constantino, the Spaniard, 
it is only necessary to say that he is 
one of the very greatest tenors of the 
world. Ernesto Giaconne is a young 
artist with a phenomenal repertory 
and a pretty taste in matters of costum- 
ing. Christian Hansen is a Dane who 
not long ago stirred the people of 
Nuremburg to unwonted enthusiasm. 
He is dramatic by temperament and 
his favorite role is that of "Turiddu" 
in "Cavalleria Rusticana." Lorenzo 
Oggero, from Italy, is well liked in 
Buenos Ayres, whence so many excel- 
lent singers have found their way to 
the north. 

Ten basses and baritones have been 
engaged. Georg Baklanoff, a Rus- 
sian, is held by his countrymen to be 
one of the foremost baritones on the 
stage. At any rate, Director Russell 
had to pay a large forfeit to the Rus- 
sian government to obtain his release 
from imperial engagements. Ramon 
Blanchart is acknowledged the finest 




baritone in Spain. Raymon Boulogne, 
of France, is compared to Manrel in 
dramatic methods. Angelina Fornari 
has already pleased Bostonians by his 
warmth of singing and acting. A Bos- 
ton resident appears in the person of 
Antonio Picco, who will make his 
debut as Conti di Luna in "Trovatore." 
Emanuel e Sarmiento is said to be an 
Italian millionaire who has taken up 
a stage career for the pure love of it 
and has talent enough to succeed. 
Francis Archambault, hailing from 

Canada, has been heard in Boston on 
the concert stage, but will make his 
operatic debut as "Barabas" in "Gio- 
conda" on the night of the opening. 
Nivette, the principal basso of the 
company, is acclaimed in France as 
one of the great singers of the day. 
Pini-Corsi, the buffo, has already won 
fame as a singing comedian of the 
first order. Pulsini is a basso pro- 
fundo whose voice is said to be of 
exceeding depth and richness. 

In the selection of the operas to be 



resented during- the coming season 

r. Russell has exhibited great cath- 

icity of taste. No opera by an 

merican composer is included, for 

e very sufficient reason that there 

no such work to be given unless the 

te John K. Paine's "Azara" be con- 

lered in the running. As Mr. Con- 

rse's ''Pipe of Desire" is to be given 

presentation by the Metropolitan 

)era Company in New York, it is, 

erefore, not available for presentation 

the Boston 

)era Com- 

ny this sea- 

i. Of the 

ole matter 


ras, time 

1 1 be the 

s t arbiter. 

is Boston 


ely encour- 

: the mak- 

of them, 

if they 


y will have 


. For the 

ent, how- 

, here is 



3 n which 

people of 


to be 

"La Gio- 

a," "Bo- 

-," "Eak- 


o n Pas- 

"Cavalleria Rusticana," "Pag- 

"Faust," "Ugonotti," "Trova- 

Carmen," "Romeo et Juliette," 

on" (Massenet's), "Mephis- 

e," "Lucia," "Traviata," "II Bar- 

'Tosca," "Falstaff," "Butter- 

Guilielmo Tell," "Otello," 

cro di Capello," "Serva Pa- 

; Rigoletta," "Elisir d'Amore," 


ill be seen from this list that 

"old Italy" still holds a great prepon- 
derance in the councils of the Boston 
opera. And Verdi, with six works, 
leads every other composer. Three 
novelties appear, "Maestro di Capello," 
by Paer; "Serva Padrona," by Pergo- 
lesi (both of ancient lineage), and 
"Anton," by Galeotti, which lends 
itself to beautiful scenic effects and a 
strong- cast. 


of opera 

Francis Archambauet, basso. Boston Opera House 

And new to the late gen- 
goers will be 
"Falstaff" and 
In every 
great enter- 
prise, whether 
of industry or 
of finance or 
of art, the in- 
t e n t must 
stand forth 
clearly before 
public support 
will be ex- 
tended. That 
such support 
has been given 
generously to 
the Boston 
Opera Com- 
pany is evi- 
dence enough, 
we feel, that 
the motive be- 
hind its incep- 
tion and com- 
pletion has 
been under- 
stood and ap- 
p r e c ia t e d . 
"Our opera 
house," said 
Mr. Russell in 
the e a r 1 i e r 
days, "is to be of the people, for the 
people, and by the people. I intend 
that it shall be as individual in its 
policy as is the great land it repre- 
sents." To this I heartily subscribe. 

And so, first of all, the best of 
operas will be presented by true 
artists acting and singing for the at- 
taining of a perfect ensemble and not 
for individual glory. To hear them 
the public is to be charged modest 



sums. Here is one dream, at least, 
come true. 

Again, the opera will encourage 
American artists, not with the cold 
word of praise that really means 
advice to go abroad and get a reputa- 

tion, but with 
Already is the 


company's school 



ways help 

of their city. In ot 
will be furnished, gei 

ability rewarded with 
the necessity for the heart-beak 
experiences Americans so often 
counter in Europe. I believe it 
be true, as the director himself has s 
that the establishment of this scl 

Aeice Neiesen and Antonio Pini-Corsi in scene: from Don Pasquaee 

grand opera, conducted in connection 
with the New England Conservatory, 
in existence and doing notable work in 
training young men and women for 
the practical life of the stage. Gifts of 
scholarships for especially promising 
pupils are beginning to come in; 
Geraldine Farrar has sent one ; so has 
David Bispham. Added to these, a 
number of scholarships for $1000 
each have been given by prominent 
women in Boston, who are always in- 
terested in furthering the artistic 

is the most important step inl 
operatic history of America. 

The Boston opera now awaits,t. 
verdict of time. For the presenl 
financial success is assured, and't 
anxieties that too often beset thel 
year of an enterprise of this sortw 
not exist to drag down an artistij 
deavor. Whether a New Emjaj 
public will permanently support M 
tern of opera that will not makll 
appeal with blazing meteors, and J 
gives a season of many perform^ 



stead of a few, is yet to be seen, 
ut those who best know Boston's 

musical heart believe that the future, 
like the present, is secure. 

On the Laying of the Corner 

Stone of the Opera House 

at Bayreuth 


"The characteristics of our plans for a theater consisted 
in this: that in order to meet an altogether ideal need, we 
had to reject one scheme after another as unsuitable, and 
hence as not to be employed as in all previous arrangements 
of such buildings, and to devise a new arrangement, which 
again allowed of none of the usual ornament ; and the result 
was that our building is now the perfection of simplicity. 
Trusting in the inventive power of necessity in general, 
and, in this case, of an ideal necessity for ornament, 
we are confident that, owing to the stimulus given by this 
problem, we shall yet find a German style of Architecture 
which will not be unworthy of a structure sacred to German 
art — to art in its most popular manifestation, the drama — 
and which shall be distinctively and peculiarly German. 
Therefore let our provisional structure, growing but slowly 
to its monumental proportions, stand for the present as a sign 
to the German people ; and let it set them to thinking of what 
has already been clearly grasped by those to whose sympathy, 
labor, and sacrifices it owes its erection. 

"Then let it stand on that fair eminence at Bayreuth." 

Phineas and the Motor Car 


PHINEAS used to wonder, some- 
times, just when it w r as that he 
began to court Diantha Bow- 
man, the rosy-cheeked, golden-haired 
idol of his boyhood. Diantha's cheeks 
were not rosy now, and her hair was 
more silver than gold, bin she was not 
yet his wife. 

And he had tried so hard to win her ! 
Year after year the rosiest apples from 
his orchard and the choicest honey from 
his apiary had found their way to Di- 
antha's table ; and year after year the 
county fair and the village picnic had 
found him at Diantha's door with his 
old mare and his buggy, ready to be 
her devoted slave for the day. Nor 
was Diantha apparently unmindful of 
all these attentions. She ate the ap- 
ples and the honey, and spent long 
contented hours in the buggy; but she 
still answered his pleadings with her 
gentle : "I hain't no call to marry yet, 
Phineas," and nothing he could do 
seemed to hasten her decision in the 
least. It was the mare and the buggy, 
however, that proved to be responsible 
for what was the beginning of the end. 

They were on the way home from the 
fair. The mare, head hanging, was plod- 
ding through the dust when around the 
curve of the road ahead shot the one au- 
tomobile that the town boasted. The 
next moment the whizzing thing had 
passed, and left a superannuated old 
mare looming through a cloud of dust 
and dancing on two wabbly hind legs. 

"Plague take them autymobiles !" 
snarled Phineas through set teeth, as 
he sawed at the reins. "I ax yer par- 
don, I'm sure, Dianthy," he added 
shamefacedly, when the mare had 
dropped to a position more nearly 
normal ; "but I hain't no use fur them 
; ere contraptions !" 

Diantha frowned. She was fright- 


ened — and because she was frighten* 
she was angry She said the first thir 
that came into her head — and nev 
had she spoken to Phineas so sharpl 

"If you did have some use for 'ei 
Phineas Hopkins, you wouldn't 1 
crawlin' along in a shiftless old r 
like this ; you'd have one yourself a 
be somebody ! For my part, I like 'er 
an' I'm jest achin' ter ride in 'em, too 

Phineas almost dropped the reins 
his amazement. "Achin' ter rid : 
'em," she had said — and all that 1 
could give her was this "shiftless 0' 
rig" that she so scorned. He remen 
bered something else, too, and h 
face flamed suddenly red. It was Cc 
Smith who owned and drove that aut< 
mobile, and Col. Smith, too, was 
bachelor. What if — Instantly : 
Phineas's soul rose a fierce jealousy. 

"I like a hoss, myself," he said the: 
with some dignity. "I want som 
thin' that's alive !" 

Diantha laughed slyly. The dang< 
was past, and she could afford to I 

"Well, it strikes me that you con- 
pretty near havin' somethin' the 
wa'n't alive jest 'cause you had sorm 
thin' that zvas!" she retorted. "Reall; 
Phineas, I didn't s'pose Dolly coul 
move so fast !" 

Phineas bridled. 

"Dolly knew how ter move — once 
he rejoined grimly. " 'Course nobod 
pretends ter say she's young now, an 
more'n we be," he finished with som 
defiance ; but he drooped visibly 1 
Diantha's next words. 

"Why, I don't feel old, Phineas, ai 
I ain't old, either. Look at Col. Smitt 
he's jest my age, an' he's got a autymc 
bile. Mebbe I'll have one some day. 

To Phineas it seemed that a col 
hand clutched his heart. 



"Dianthy, you wouldn't really— ride 
in one !" he faltered. 

Until that moment Diantha had not 
been sure that she would, but the 
quaver in Phineas' voice decided her. 

"Wouldn't I? You jest wait an' 

And Phineas did wait — and he did 
see. He saw Diantha, not a week later, 
pink-cheeked and bright-eyed, sitting 
by the side of Col. Smith in that hated 
automobile. Nor did he stop to con- 
sider that Diantha was only one of a 
dozen upon whom Col. Smith, in the 
enthusiasm of his new possession, was 
pleased to bestow that attention. To 
Phineas it could mean but one thing; 
and he did not change his opinion when 
he heard Diantha's account of the 

"It was perfectly lovely," she 
breathed. "Oh, Phineas, it was jest 
like flyin' !" 

"Flyin' !" Phineas could say no more. 
He felt as if he were choking — chok- 
ing with the dust raised by Dolly's 
plodding hoofs. 

"An' the trees an' the houses swept 
by like ghosts," continued Diantha. 
"Why, Phineas, I could 'a' rode on an' 
on furever !" 

Before the ecstatic rapture in Dian- 
tha's face Phineas went down in defeat. 
Without one word he turned away — 
but in his heart he registered a solemn 
vow : he, too, would have an automo- 
bile; he, too, would make Diantha wish 
to ride on and on forever ! 

Arduous days came to Phineas then. 
Phineas was not a rich man. He had 
enough for his modest wants, but until 
now those wants had not included an 
automobile — until now he had not 
known that Diantha wished to fly. All 
through the autumn and winter 
Phineas pinched and economized until 
he had lopped off all of the luxuries 
and most of the pleasures of living. 
Even then it is doubtful if he would 
have accomplished his purpose had he 
not, in the spring, fallen heir to a 
modest legacy of a few thousand dol- 
lars. The news of his good fortune 
was not two hours old when he sought 

"I cal'late mebbe I'd be gettin' me 
one o' them 'ere autymobiles this 
spring," he said, as if casually filling 
a pause in the conversation. 


At the awed joy in Diantha's voice 
the man's heart glowed within him. 
This one moment of triumph was worth 
all the long miserable winter with its 
butterless bread and tobaccoless pipes. 
But he carefully hid his joy when he 

"Yes," he said, nonchalantly. "I'm 
goin' ter Boston next week ter pick 
one out. I cal'late on gittin' a purty 
good one." 

"Oh, Phineas ! But how — how you 
goin' ter run it?" 

Phineas' chin came up. 

"Run it!" he scoffed. "Well, I 
hain't had no trouble yet steerin' a 
hoss, an' I cal'late I won't have any 
more steerin' a mess o' senseless metal 
what hain't got no eyes ter be seein' 
things an' gittin' scared ! I don't worry 
none' bout runnin' it." 

"But, Phineas, it ain't all steerin'," 
ventured Diantha, timidly. "There's 
lots of little handles and things ter 
turn, an' there's some things you do 
with your feet. Col. Smith did." 

The name Smith to Phineas was like 
a match to gunpowder. He flamed 
instantly into wrath. 

"Well, I cal'late what Col. Smith 
does, I can," he snapped. "Besides," 
— airily — "mebbe I sha'n't git the feet 
kind, anyhow. I want the best. There's 
as much as four or five kinds, Jim Blair 
says, an' I cal'late ter try 'em all." 

"Oh-h!" breathed Diantha, falling 
back in her chair with an ecstatic sigh. 
"Oh, Phineas, won't it be grand !" And 
Phineas, seeing the joyous light in her 
eyes, gazed straight down a vista of 
happiness that led to wedding bells and 

Phineas was gone some time on his 
Boston trip. When he returned he 
looked thin and worried. He started 
nervously at trivial noises, and his eyes 
showed a furtive restlessness that 
quickly caused remark. 

"Why, Phineas, you don't look well !" 
Diantha exclaimed when she saw him. 



"Well? Oh, I'm well." 

"An' did you buy it — that autymo- 

"I did." Phineas' voice was trium- 

Diantha's eyes sparkled. 

"Where is it?" she demanded. 

"Comin' — next week." 

"An' did you try 'em all, as you said 
you would?" 

Phineas stirred; then he sighed. 

"Well, I dunno," he acknowledged. 
"I hain't done nothin' but ride in 'em 
since I went down — I know that. But 
there's such a powerful lot of 'em, 
Diantha; an' when they found out I 
wanted one, they all took hold an' 
showed off their best p'ints — 'demon- 
strating' they called it. They raced 
me up hill an' down hill, an' scooted 
me round corners till I didn't know 
where I was. I didn't have a minute 
ter myself. An' they went fast, Dian- 
thy — powerful fast. I ain't real sure 
yet that I'm breathin' natural." 

"But it must have been grand, 
Phineas! I should have loved it!" 

"Oh, it was, 'course !" assured Phin- 
eas, hastily. 

"An' you'll take me ter ride, right 

If Phineas hesitated it was for only a 

''Course," he promised. "Er — 
there's a man, he's comin' with it, an' 
he's goin' ter stay a little, jest ter — ter 
make sure everything's all right. After 
he goes I'll come. An' ye want ter be 
ready — I'll show ye a thing or two !" 
he finished with a swagger that was 
meant to hide the shake in his voice. 

In due time the man and the automo- 
bile arrived, but Diantha did not have 
her ride at once. It must have taken 
some time to make sure that "every- 
thing was all right," for the man stayed 
many days, and while he was there, of 
course Phineas was occupied with him. 
Col. Smith was unkind enough to ob- 
serve that he hoped it was taking 
Phineas Hopkins long enough to learn 
to run the thing; but his remark did 
not reach Diantha's ears. She knew 
only that Phineas, together with the 
man and the automobile, started off 

early every morning for some unfre- 
quented road, and did not return until 

There came a day, however, when 
the man left town, and not twenty-four 
hours later, Phineas, with a gleaming 
thing of paint and polish, stood at 
Diantha's door. 

"Now ain't that pretty," quavered 
Diantha, excitedly. "Ain't that awful 
pretty !" 

Phineas beamed. 

"Purty slick, I think myself," he 

"An' green is so much nicer than 
red," cooed Diantha. 

Phineas quite glowed with joy — Col. 
Smith's car was red. "Oh, green's the 
thing," he retorted airily; "an' see!" 
he added; and forthwith he burst into 
a paean of praise, in which tires, horns, 
lamps, pumps, baskets, brakes, and 
mud-guards were the dominant notes. 
It almost seemed, indeed, that he had 
brought the gorgeous thing before him 
to look at and talk about rather than to 
use, so loath was he to stop talking and 
set the wheels to moving. Not until 
Diantha had twice reminded him that 
she was longing to ride in it did he 
help her into the car and make ready to 

It was not an entire success — that 
start. There were several false moves 
on Phineas' part, and Diantha could 
not repress a slight scream and a ner- 
vous jump at sundry unexpected puffs 
and snorts and snaps from the throbbing 
thing beneath her. She gave a louder 
scream when Phineas, in his nervous- 
ness, sounded the siren, and a wail like 
a cry from the spirit world shrieked in 
her ears. 

"Phineas, what was that?" she shiv- 
ered, when the voice had moaned into 

Phineas' lips were dry, and his hands 
and knees were shaking; but his pride 
marched boldly to the front. 

"Why, that's the siren whistle, 
'course," he chattered. "Ain't it 
great? I thought you'd like it!" And 
to hear him one would suppose that to 
sound the siren was always a neces- 
sary preliminary to starting the wheels. 



They were off at last. There was a 
slight indecision, to be sure, whether 
they would go backward or forward, 
and there was some hesitation as to 
whether Diantha's geranium bed 
or the driveway would make the best 
thoroughfare. But these little matters 
having been settled to the apparent 
satisfaction of all concerned, the auto- 
mobile rolled down the driveway and 
out on to the main highway. 

"Oh, ain't this grand !" murmured 
Diantha, drawing a long, but some- 
what tremulous breath. 

Phineas did not answer. His lips were 
tense, and his eyes were fixed on the 
road ahead. For days now he had run 
the car himself, and he had been given 
official assurance that he was quite 
capable of handling it; yet here he was 
on his first ride with Diantha almost 
making a failure of the whole thing 
at the start. Was he to be beaten — 
beaten by a senseless motor car and 
Col. Smith? At the thought Phineas 
lifted his chin and put on more power. 

"Oh, my! How f-fast we're goin' !" 
cried Diantha, close to his ear. 

Phineas nodded. 

"Who wants ter crawl?" he shouted; 
and the car leaped again at the touch 
of his hand. 

They were out of the town now, 
on a wide road that had few turns. 
Occasionally they met a carriage or a 
wagon, but the frightened horses and 
the no less frightened drivers gave the 
automobile a wide berth — which was 
well; for the parallel tracks behind 
Phineas showed that the car still had 
its moments of indecision as to the 
course to pursue. 

The town was four miles behind 
them when Diantha, who had been for 
some time vainly clutching at the fly- 
ing ends of her veil, called to Phineas 
to stop. 

The request took Phineas by sur- 
prise. For one awful moment his mind 
was a blank — he had forgotten how to 
stop ! In frantic haste he turned and 
twisted and shoved and pulled, ending 
with so sudden an application of the 
brakes that Diantha nearly shot head 

"Why, why — Phineas !" she cried a 
little sharply. 

Phineas swallowed the lump in his 
throat and steadied himself in his seat. 

"Ye see I — I can stop her real quick 
if I want to," he explained jauntily. 
"Ye can do 'most anythin' with these 
'ere things if ye only know how, Dian- 
thy. Didn't we come slick?" 

"Yes, indeed," stammered Diantha, 
hastily smoothing out the frown on her 
face and summoning a smile to her 
lips — not for her best black silk gown 
would she have had Phineas know that 
she was wishing herself safe at home 
and the automobile back where it came 

"We'll go home through the Holler," 
said Phineas, after she had retied her 
veil and they were ready to start. "It's 
the long way round, ye know. I ain't 
goin' ter give ye no snippy little two- 
mile run, Dianthy, like Col. Smith did," 
he finished gleefully. 

"No, of course not," murmured Dian- 
tha, smothering a sigh as the automo- 
bile started with a jerk. An hour later, 
tired, frightened, a little breathless, but 
valiantly declaring that she had had a 
"beautiful time," Diantha was set down 
at her own door. 

That was but the first of many such 
trips. Ever sounding in Phineas Hop- 
kins' ears and spurring him to fresh en- 
deavor, were Diantha's words : "I could 
'a' rode on an' on furever" ; and deep in 
his heart was the determination that 
if it were automobile rides that she 
wanted, it was automobile rides that 
she should have ! His small farm on 
the edge of the town — once the pride 
of his heart — began to look forlorn and 
deserted ; for Phineas, when not actu- 
ally driving his automobile, was usually 
to be found hanging over it with 
wrench and polishing cloth. He 
bought little food and less clothing; but 
always — gasoline. And he talked to 
any one who would listen about auto- 
mobiles in general and his own in par- 
ticular, learnedly dropping in frequent 
references to cylinders, speed, horse- 
power, vibrators, carbureters, and 
spark plugs. 



She's aee stove up — an' now you won't never say yes," he moaned 

every night with thankfulness that she 
possessed her complement of limbs and 
senses, and she arose every morning 
with a fear that the coming night would 
find some one of them missing. To 
Phineas and the town in general she 
appeared to be devoted to this breath- 
less whizzing over the country roads ; 
and wild horses could not have dragged 
from her the truth : that she was long- 
ing with an overwhelming longing for 
the old days of Dolly, dawdling, and 

Just where it all would have ended it 
is difficult to say had not the automo- 
bile itself taken a hand in the game — 
as automobiles will sometimes — and 
played trumps. 

It was the first day of the county 
fair again, and Phineas and Diantha 
were on their way home. Straight 
ahead the road ran between clumps of 
green, then unwound in the white rib- 
bon of dust across wide fields and open 

' 'Tain't much like last year; is it, 

Dianthy?" crowed Phineas, shrilly, in 
her ear — then something went wrong. 

Phineas knew it instantly. The 
quivering thing beneath them leaped 
into new life — but a life of its own. It 
was no longer a slave, but a master. 
Phineas' face grew white. Thus far he 
had been able to keep to the road, but 
just ahead there was a sharp curve, and 
he knew he could not make the turn — 
something was the matter with the 
steering gear. 

"Look out — she's got the bits in her 
teeth !" he shouted. "She's bolted !" 

There came a scream, a sharp report, 
and a grinding crash — then silence. 

From away of! in the dim distance 
Phineas heard a voice. 

"Phineas ! Phineas !" 

Something snapped, and he seemed 
to be floating up, up, up, out of a 
black oblivion of nothingness. He 
tried to speak, but he knew that he 
made no sound. 



"Phineas ! Phineas I" 

The voice was nearer now, so near 
that it seemed just above him. It 
sounded like — With a mighty effort 
he opened his eyes ; then full con- 
sciousness came. 

He was on the ground, his head in 
Diantha's lap. Diantha, bonnet 
crushed, neck-bow askew, and coat 
torn, was bending over him, calling 
him frantically by name. Ten feet 
away the wrecked automobile, tip-tilted 
against a large maple tree, completed 
the picture. 

With a groan Phineas closed his eyes 
and turned away his head. 

"She's all stove up — an' now you 
iwon't never say yes," he moaned. "You 
[wanted ter ride on an' on furever !" 

"But I Will— I don't — I didn't mean 

it," sobbed Diantha, incoherently. "I'd 
rather have Dolly twice over. I like 
ter crawl. Oh, Phineas, I hate that 
thing — I've always hated it! I'll say 
yes next week — to-morrow — to-day if 
you'll only open your eyes and tell me 
you ain't a-dyin' !" 

Phineas was not dying, and he 
proved it promptly and effectually, 
even to the doubting Diantha's blush- 
ing content. And there their rescuers 
found them a long half-hour later — a 
blissful old man and a happy old 
woman sitting hand in hand by the 
wrecked automobile, 
purity soon," said Phineas, rising stiff 
purty soon," said Phineas, rising stiffly. 
"Ye see, we've each got a foot that don't 
go, so we couldn't git help ; but we 
hadn't minded the wait — not a mite !" 


tance ■ 



Ma boat's on the reevair, ahm smokin' ma pipe, 
Of tabac I have plentee an' honions are ripe. 
Ma babee is jolly an' all de res : — 
Tirteen kids an' ma fam mak me feel lak de bes'. 

We've potack in de cellar an' honion an' bean, 
An' de bes' happle an' cider you never did seen ; 
De cabane be warm, hall bank hup wit de leaves : — 
Ma hole mare she is soun' 'cept a touch of de heaves. 

Twenty chiken, ba gosh, lay an egg every day, 
An' one hole mooley cow, and a barn full of hay. 
Oh ! 'tis notting ah want as ah row on de reever 
But de dinner of johnny cake, pork, an' fried liver. 

An' catch me de pout an' de perch an' de sucker 
An' from mornin' till night ahm a jolly hole wukker. 
Ah chop on de log an' ah hoe in de medder, 
An' I trap an' I feesh in all sorts of wedder. 

So ah sing as ah row an ah feel lak de bob-o-link, 
Ahve got sugar an' tea an' a bottle of — what you tink? 
For ahve been to de village wit 1' argent a plentee 
An' ahm so happy an' strong ah 'most could lick twenty. 

So Hoorah for de tirteen petite kids an' dere modder, 
An' Hoorah for de cabane dats so fine lak no odder, 
Hoorah for de mare an' de cow an' de chickeens, 

The Modern Artistic Pianoforte- 


JF I were determined to become an 
expert yachtsman, I would cer- 
tainly study the tides, the charts, 
and the winds; I would closely 
observe divers manifestations in the 
air and on the water's surface indic- 
ative of the approach of squalls or 
storms, also 
varied appear- 
a n c e s of the 
water denoting 
shoals, rocks, 
and sandbars. 
All these I 
should no 
doubt wish to 
k n o w — but I 
think I should 
also w i s h. to 
know, and, in- 
deed, could not 
expect to be a 
dexterous sailor 
unless I did 
know, s o m e - 
w hat of the 
boat itself — its 
gene ral con- 
struction the 
names of its 
various sheets, 
sails, masts, 
and so on ; the 
form of its 
hull, its water 
draught, its 
necessary and 
adequate amount of ballast, and many 
other details. 

In like manner it seems to me that 
to one who is studying or has studied 
pianoforte playing, a knowledge of the 
instrument itself, its construction, the 
mechanism and workings of the va- 

Cut showing the Continuous Rim bent into its 

proper shape eor Grand Pianoforte, 

and the Posts or Beams 

rious and principal factors in its n 
up must be of advantage ; and, in 
without such knowledge — for 
stance, the mechanism of the p< 
the dampers, etc. — the best re 
cannot be obtained by a player, 
modern pianoforte (and we spe; 

the artisti 
an exceed 
sensitive n 
anism, an« 
a certain 
tent, all ; 
tic pianofc 
like men, < 
one f r o n 
other. ' 
there is a 
of constru 
which in 
eral is the 
for all p 
fortes, j u i 
all m e n 
alike in 
line, spes 
broadly ; b\ 
in the cas 
twins, whi« 
alike but c 
one from 
other in 
ing, and character, so with pianofo 
and although two instruments 
be made by the same hands, 
will not be absolutely similar ii 
respects. For this there are simpl< 
valid reasons. It is unnecessary 
paper of this kind to point them 



or to draw too fine a line, and it is the 
general scheme of construction upon 
which pianofortes are built, with cer- 
tain modifications and differences, 
which interests us ; and while it is also 
true that in different classes or grades 
of pianofortes this general scheme 
varies in detail, still there is one fun- 
damental basic plan upon which all 
artistic pianofortes are built. 

It has been said that "Art includes 
not only the formative arts, such as 

Cut showing the Rim or Casing, which is not 
continuous, but which is geued together 


painting, sculpture, and architecture, 
put also all forms of music and poetry, 
lown to the very novel — in fact, all 
nan's work, so far as it is directly 
aeant to produce aesthetic pleasure." 
-Charles Waldstein on John Ruskin. 
V work, therefore, which has as its 
iasis, _ or which is the outcome of, 
cientific research, provided it pro- 
uces aesthetic pleasure, may be 
ermed an Art Product, and there can 
e no doubt but that the best piano- 

fortes of the present day fall in this 

The artistic pianoforte is an evolu- 
tion — an outcome of years of scientific 
investigation and labor, supplemented 
by touches of that rare and abiding 
attribute, genius ; and the differences 
between the cheap and the artistic piano 
are just as distinct and real as those 
between a Stradivarius violin and a 
forty-dollar fiddle; the one is an art 
product, the other an imitation — alike 
in form, but in form only — 
the divine spark is in one, 
but not in the other. How 
few of the Rembrandt, the 
Franz Hals, or the Holbein 
subjects would vitally in- 
terest us to-day if we had 
only ordinary photographs 
of the persons in place of 
their portraits by these 
great men; the photographs 
would probably seem to us 
in no way distinguished or 
more worthy of serious at- 
tention and study than a 
hundred or a thousand oth- 
ers ; but because these 
faces — albeit commonplace 
enough in themselves — 
have come to us from mas- 
ter brushes ; because in 
every fibre they are imbued 
with that which stands for 
far more than mere like- 
nesses of persons ; because 
they have in them, to a rare 
degree, the human quality; 
for these and other reasons 
they thrill us and impress 
us as being the very es- 
sence of freshness, bright- 
ness, vigor, pathos, dignity, grace, or 
what not — in a word, because they are 
the result of genius they are ultimate 
and real, and, for this reason are they 
superior to and different from an 
ordinary painting. 

It is the same with pianos ; the tones 
of one instrument go to the founda- 
tion of our natures, arousing or sooth- 
ing our deepest and best emotions, 
touching our hearts and stirrine our 
very souls; while another instrument. 



in which the hand of the artist has had 
no part, merely tickles the ear, if in- 
deed it does so much as that. 

But revenons a nos moutons! 

In a word, the general construction 
of the modern artistic grand piano- 
forte is as follows : 

First, the case, consisting of its 
sides and ends ; and within the sides, 
supporting and holding them in place, 
posts or braces of heavy timber form- 
ing the body or frame of the instrument. 
To this frame, at its front end, is 
attached the wrest-plank or pin-block 

Cross Section of Bent-up Rims 

a, Inner Rim, its eight separate thicknesses 
glued together may be seen ; b. Outer Rim, its 
six separate thicknesses glued together may 
be seen ; c, Sounding-board 

into which the tuning-pins are driven ; 
while over the frame is laid, first, the 
sounding board, which is made fast to 
the sides of the case, and then the 
iron plate, the purpose of the latter 
being to hold the strings drawn at 
great tension across it from end to end. 
The action is then adjusted in such 
manner that a hammer on being 
brought into play by the depression 
of its keys, strikes a string, or unison, 
thus producing a tone. Now, the 
strings, in being drawn from the front 

to the farther end of the plate rest 
upon a bridge which bears directly 
upon the sounding-board, being glued 
to it. As the strings are set vibrating 
or pulsating by the hammer blows, the 
vibrations are communicated through 
the bridge to the sounding-board caus- 
ing it in turn to vibrate, thus 
reinforcing and amplifying the tone 
from the strings — in fact, upon the 
capacity of the sounding-board for vi- 
bration depends largely the quality or 
character of the tone. The vibrations 
traversing the board are conducted by 
it to the case of the instrument, and, 
in truth, throughout the entire structure. 

This traveling of the vibrations over 
the sounding-board may be likened to 
the effect caused by dropping a pebble 
into a lake ; at first ripples or waves 
start in small circles, their center be- 
ing the point at which the pebble 
strikes the surface of the water; they 
then grow into larger and larger cir- 
cles, expanding until they are stopped 
only by the surrounding shores. And 
so the extent to which the sound- 
waves or vibrations penetrate through- 
out the instrument depends much 
upon the thoroughness with which the 
different parts are constructed, and 
the perfection with which they are 
put together. In the artistic piano- 
forte this is an important point; in the 
inartistic piano it is ignored. 

With this outline in brief of the gen- 
eral constructon of the instrument, let 
us proceed to consider in detail the 
four principal parts, namely, the case, 
the iron plate, the sounding-board, and 
the action. 


The case consists of the sides and end 
and the posts or beams which form the 
body or frame of the structure. The 
sides in ordinary pianos comprise 
separate pieces of wood, while in the 
artistic instrument the entire rim is 
continuous from end to end without a 
break. Some instruments are made 
with the curved sides bent by steam in 
the solid wood, afterwards being 
veneered ; but the better way is to 
build the cases of continuous layers of 



maple of practically veneer thick- 
nesses and glued together, the whole 
being bent into the required form by 
powerful presses. These continuous 
strips are, for the ordinary small or so- 
called baby grand, about sixteen feet in 
length. Several important advantages 
are gained by this glued-up method : 
first, a general solidity; second, freedom 
from shrinking or swelling; third, a re- 
inforcement of the sound-vibrations as 
they come in contact with the rim or 
casing from the sounding-board. 

In the ordinary piano these sound- 
vibrations are retarded and broken in 
crossing from one distinct part of the 
rim to another. 

The continuous rim is itself com- 
posed of two sections, an inner and an 
outer, and the inner rim is not so high 
as the outer rim, the reason being that 
a shelf may be formed on the inner 
rim upon which to rest the sounding- 
board and the iron frame. The 
continuous rim, considered as a whole, 
is then covered with a veneer, inside 
and outside, and it is the outside 
veneer which receives the polish. 

The posts or beams above referred 
to help to maintain the downward 
tension of the sounding-board caused 
by the pressure of the strings on the 
bridges glued to the sounding-board; 
and they also serve to solidify the 
whole instrument ; and yet, at the 
same time, they do not cause a rig- 
idity, for the whole instrument must, 
in order to obtain best tonal results, 
be flexible enough to permit an inter- 
vibration of wood and metal. The 
case forms a complement, so to speak, 
of the sounding-board and other parts, 
and vice versa, the two together mak- 
ing the perfect whole. 

It may be interesting to note that 
rior to the year 1820, spinets, harpsi- 
hords, and clavichords, the forerun- 
ers of the pianoforte, were wooden 
tructures entirely, the iron plate be- 
| inaugurated at a later date, when, 
wing to the development of these in- 
ruments and their culmination in the 
ianoforte, a greater string tension he- 
me necessary. The pianoforte of the 
Dncert hall is to-day a far more power- 

ful instrument than it was forty years 
ago, one reason for this being that 
modern music with its complicated and 
heavy orchestration has compelled a 
greater volume of tone in the piano- 
forte in order that the desired result 
may be obtained. In the days of our 
great-grandfathers such works as the 
Tschaikowsky Pianoforte Concerto in 
B-flat minor with its orchestral accom- 
paniment could have found no adequate 
expression in the spinet, harpsichord, 
or clavichord. 

The pin-block or wrest-plank, which 
is virtually a part of the case, is, as its 
name implies, the block into which the 
pins are set which hold the strings, 
and it is attached to the front end of 
the frame ; and its construction is of 
great importance, for upon its perfec- 
tion depends, in a large measure, the 
capacity of a pianoforte to remain in 

Without question, the most perfect 
manner of making the pin-block is to 
employ separate thicknesses of hard- 
wood, usually rock maple, glued one 
upon another in such fashion that the 
grain of each layer (and there are 
usually six altogether) crosses the 
grain of the layer directly above or 
below it, at right angles. Owing to 
this arrangement it becomes well-nigh 
impossible for the pin-block to swell 
or shrink as a whole and the pins are 
firmly and rigidly held — much more 
so than if they were driven into merely 
solid wood. 

We have stated above that it is the 
veneer, which covers the casing or 
frame, which receives the polish. The 
process of polishing is an essential one, 
for there are climatic and atmospheric 
influences which affect the outer ap- 
pearance of a pianoforte deleteriously 
unless the polishing is done in a most 
careful manner. Without going too 
deeply into details, it may be said that 
the polishing of the case is no such 
easy matter at it might seem to be 
from a superficial consideration. As 
a matter of fact, the process requires 
at least three months' time that it may 
be adequately done. There are a num- 
ber of separate coats of shellac and 



varnish given, rubbings with rotten- 
stone and with pumice. One of the 
details is of particular interest. After 
a number of distinct operations there 
is left but one thing to be done and 
that is to get the final gloss ; and for 
this there is nothing so efficacious as 
the human skin. The varnished case 
is rubbed thoroughly with great care 
by the soft part of the inside of the 
hand. This arouses a friction, and the. 
heat generated so acts on the varnish 
as to create the gloss. The men who 
do this rubbing must see to it that the 
epidermis of 
their hands is 
kept soft and pli- 
able, and, while 
they must of ne- 
cessity exercise 
a tremendous 
force in their 
work, they 
must perform no 
labor which 
will incapacitate 
their hands for 
their unique 

Great care 
must be taken 
in applying the 
different coats 
of varnish, that 
one coat be ab- 
solutely dry be- 
fore another coat 
is added, for 
otherwise, while 
the second coat 
is drying, the 
under coat will shrink or pull apart, 
and this causes a streaky appearance 
in the varnish which is called checking, 
and which is disagreeable to the eye. 


The principal function of the iron 
plate is to bear the tension of the 
strings which stretch across it — and 
which exert a constant strain (in the 
small grand pianoforte) of over forty 
thousand pounds. The plate is made 
of cast iron, and it is no simple opera- 
tion even in the hands of an expert 

Cut showing Iron Pirate 

iron founder. Nice care is required in 
the selection of specially qualified met- 
als ; also in the casting, to provide 
against the breaking or cracking of the 
plate under the enormous strain of the 
strings. The plate must be perfectly 
adjusted in its place over the sounding- 
board, each screw and bolt fitting to a 
T, that there may be no rattling. Every 
point of contact between the plate and 
the rim must be exact. 

From the drawing it will be seen 
that there are openings left in 
the plate. These openings are made 
merely to lessen 
its weight. 

Since the plate 
becomes neces- 
sary because of 
the strings, we 
may say a word 
here regarding 
these latter. 

The musical 
sound or tone of 
the pianoforte is 
produced by the 
striking of a 
hammer upon its 
string or set of 
strings ; some of 
the tones are pro- 
duced from one 
string and some 
from more ; for 
instance, the last 
eight tones in the 
bass have but a 
single string for 
each tone ; the 
next fourteen tones are produced from 
two strings for each tone, these two 
strings being tuned one with the other, 
and the two forming what is known as 
a unison ; for the balance, or sixty-sixl 
tones, there are usually three strings' 
to a unison. 

From this it appears that the total) 
number of individual strings is two) 
hundred and thirty-four, though there) 
are but eighty-eight separate sets ofj 
strings. The whole number of uni-j 
sons, of course, corresponds to the en- 
tire number of keys, black and white 



which in an instrument of seven and 
one-third octaves, the ordinary range, 
is eighty-eight. 

All of the strings are made of steel 
wire, and in the artistic piano the 
wire used is of much better quality 
than that used in moderate-priced in- 
struments. The bass strings are 
wound with copper so as to add 
weight to them, for the heavier the 
string in a given length, the deeper 
the tone (that is with a given tension), 
and the winding with iron in the tenor 
register strings is done to equalize 
the quality of tone from the copper- 
wound strings of the bass to the plain 
steel strings above. 

In speaking of the length of a string 
we are led to an important part in the 
construction of a pianoforte, namely, 
the scale. By the scale is meant, in 
a word, the relative lengths of the 
strings. For instance, suppose a string 
of a certain thickness and two feet in 
length gives the tone of middle C, then 
a string of the same thickness but one 
foot in length would, other things be- 
ing equal, produce C, one octave 
higher; but for better results it 
may be expedient to use for the 
shorter string or higher tone a wire of 
different thickness from that of the 
first, and it would not then be in 
length just one-half the length of the 
first, but longer or shorter than one- 
half according to its relative thick- 

By drawing the scale is meant de- 
termining this and kindred points. 
The scale is a factor in the result of 
the tone, but only a factor ; for two 
pianofortes with similar scales would 
not give the same quality of tone 
unless alike in all other respects, if 
even then, any more than two yachts 
would sail at the same speed merely 
because their lines were identical. 

When it is remembered that the big 
bass strings double-wound with cop- 
per are over four feet in length, and 
that the small strings in the treble 
are but two inches long, some idea is 
gained of the difficulty in drawing a 
?cale. For an important desideratum 
is that the gradation of tones shall 

be as even as possible. Another fac- 
tor to be considered in drawing the 
scale is the positions of the strings 
relative to the curve of the bridge, 
which rests upon the sounding-board. 


The sounding-board has been well 
called the soul of the pianoforte, and 
it is the most important part of the entire 
structure. The tone is largely depend- 
ent upon it, and the character of the 
tone is controlled to a great extent by 
the character of the board, the quality 
of the wood from which it is made, 
the manner in which its different sec- 
tions are matched and prepared, the 
care taken, and the labor expended. A 
properly prepared sounding-board may 
be likened to an arable field which 
produces the richest kind of harvest, 
while to expect a full, sympathetic 
tone from a piano in which the board 
is deficient is akin to looking for crops 
from sterile land. True, the casing, 
the strings, the hammers, the scale, 
and the manifold factors which go to 
make up the instrument, do affect the 
resultant tone ; but it is the sounding- 
board more than any other one factor 
which determines the tone quality. 
Two artistic instruments as nearly as 
possible alike in other respects, but 
one containing a poor sounding-board 
and the other a distinctly fine 
sounding-board, would produce tones 
at once distinguishable — a common- 
place quality characterizing the tone 
of the former, while an exquisite, su- 
perb, musical tone would come from 
the latter. 

The best pianos are provided with 
sounding-boards slightly arched, over 
which the strings extend. The strings 
being spread over the entire surface, 
must necessarily be on a more level 
surface than on a violin, for instance, 
where the four strings bear upon a 
very small part only of the sounding- 
board. The tremendous strain of the 
strings in a modern piano has a ten- 
dency from the first to force down the 
arch of the board. In the very finest 
and most carefully made pianos the 
strain of the arched board against the 



Cut showing Sounding-board 

strings, and the strain of the strings 
against the arched board, are so finely 
adjusted that the one counterbalances 
the other. That is to say, the sound- 
ing-board is able to carry the sti ain of 
the downward-bearing strings, and at 
the same time is pliable enough to 
yield to the slightest vibration of the 
strings. If the sounding-board be too 
buckram and heavy, then only violent 
vibrations will affect it, and it will 
throw out only a blunt, dull sound. 
On the other hand, if the sounding- 
board be too weak to carry the strain 
of the strings properly, there will not 
be sufficient resistance, and the sound 
will be wiry and thin. So sensitive is 
the wood to climatic changes that the 
sounding-board tends to lose its shape 
very easily. Under certain conditions 
the sounding-board will expand, and 
the soft and hard fibres of the wood 
will be pressed together, which in itself 
results in no injury; under other con- 
ditions the sounding board will con- 
tract so that it assumes a perfectly flat 
shape; and even if the board does not 
crack after such contraction, as it often 
does, the loss of its original convex 
shape results in a great loss of tone, 
owing to its inability to bear against 
the pressure of the strings, as it once 

The spruce from which best sound- 
ing-boards are made is submitted to 
a temperature of about 150 degrees 
Fahrenheit for a considerable time, 
many months or perhaps a year that 
the wood may shrink to its very limit; 
for if there be a shrinkage after the 
board is in the pianoforte the result is 
disastrous. Such shrinkage causes a 
cracked sounding-board, and we then 
have a piano with a broken heart ! It 
is this which causes so many pianos to 
sound tin-panny, as we say. 

Oftentimes a rattle is heard when an 
instrument is played, and a crack in 
the sounding-board is frequently re- 
sponsible for this ; a pin or a button, 
or, in fact, any such object, however 
tiny, dropped into the pianoforte and 
resting on the sounding-board will 
cause a rattle. Another cause, per- 
haps, more interesting than any, is 
sympathetic vibration; that is to say, 
when a given tone is produced on a 
pianoforte some object in the room, 
such, for irstance, as a glass dish, will 
be set in vibration, and is itself in ac- 
cord, so to speak, with the tone sent 
forth from the instrument. This sym- 
pathetic vibration will cause the dish 
or what not to quiver or shake; and 
oftentimes a person when playing will] 
be met with some such curious experi-l 



encc and erroneously believe that the 
jingle or rattle proceeds from the in- 
strument itself. A diligent search is 
often necessary to ascertain the real 
cause of the trouble, but when found 
a slight change in its position will put 
the object out of accord and the sym- 
pathetic vibration will be destroyed. 

After the drying process • is com- 
pleted the board is taken from the high 
temperature to a normal one, when 
the effect of the temperature, owing to 
its being more moist, naturally tends 
to cause a swelling of the wood ; to 

sound ; but if the strings arc tightened 
the top of the drum is curved or arched, 
and when struck offer a resistance 
which results in a tone, or a noise of at 
least a character of its own. 

The downward pressure of the 
strings in the pianoforte upon the 
crown or arch of the board causes, in 
like manner, a tension which vitalizes 
the vibrations and without which the 
vibrations and consequently the tone 
would be flabby and jejune. It may 
be stated, in passing, that the board 
vibrates or pulsates molecularly; not 

Tension Resonator between sounding-board and beams 

avoid this swelling, bars of spruce are 
glued on the under side of the board 
at right angles to the grain of the 
wood; the effect of this is that the 
board cannot swell on this under side, 
being held by the bars, but can and 
does swell on its upper side, and this 
swelling causes a crowning or arching 
of the top side of the board — the very 
desired end. The same principle is 
known to us all from the drums of our 
childhood. Unless the strings on the 
outside of the drum are taut, the top 
of the drum when beaten by the drum- 
tick gives only an empty, lifeless 

as a whole, up and down, as a string 
does when plucked. 

Speaking of the crown or arch of 
the sounding-board naturally brings 
up one of the most important inven- 
tions in the development of the piano- 
forte of recent years, the Tension Res- 
onator.* This invention has been 
characterized by the Scientific Ameri- 
can as "the greatest advance in piano- 
forte construction in the past twenty- 
five years." It was invented in 1900 
and has been proven, after nine years 

* Invented by R. W. Gertz. 



of use, not only a practical success, but 
an actual necessity to the most thor- 
oughly constructed instruments 

The purpose of the Tension Resona- 
tor, in a word, is to maintain the arch 
of the sounding-board, just as the post 
in a violin maintains the arch against 
the pressure of the strings. While it 
is true that the sounding-board of a 
violin has a permanent shape, this 
stiffening-post inserted within the in- 
strument directly beneath the bridge, 
where the greatest strain is exerted, 
connects the board with the back and 
thus prevents a rupture of the board 
at its weakest point. The tense strings 
and the vibrant board are a unit in 
themselves, the strain of the one coun- 
teracting the strain of the other. 

With the piano the condition, to be 
sure, is somewhat different; but while 
the piano is fitted with a sounding- 
board slightly arched, this arch by 
means of atmospheric changes and 
because of the great pressure of the 
strings bearing down on the board by 
means of its bridges, is very apt to 
flatten, with the result that the tone 
quality is impaired, and even lost. The 
Tension Resonator was devised to off- 
set this very thing. It consists of a 
series of tension bars, each composed 
of two parts, which are oppositely 
threaded at their adjacent ends to re- 
ceive turnbuckles or nuts. One end 
rests in the rim of the case, the other 
being made fast at a central disk com- 
mon to all of the bars. By means of 
the turnbuckles a requisite tension 
may be secured, making it impossible 
for the sounding-board to flatten or 
lose its arch. Without this Tension 
Resonator a piano gradually loses its 
tone ; while with it, the tone is main- 
tained permanently with its pristine 
beauty and sonority; without it the 
piano is much like a violin without its 
post, so requisite as already explained 
to support the curve of the board; 
while with it the piano, like the violin, 
improves, softens, and mellows its tone 
with increasing years; without it the 
piano is, indeed, like an arch without 
its keystone; while with it the instru- 
ment remains steadfast, secure, per- 

manent in its tone qualities for gen- 


It has now been shown, however in- 
adequately, that each of the compo- 
nent parts — the strings, the hammers. 
the sounding-board, the scale, and the 
casing — >lends its influence toward the 
final tone quality of the instrument; 
but we have not yet seen how the pro- 
duction of this resultant tone is 
brought under the control of the 
player; how the various effects run- 
ning through the whole gamut of 
human feeling can be expressed from 
tender pathos to tempestuous frenzy; 
from the outpouring of intense passion, 
either wretched or happy, to the calm, 
benign expression of a peaceful soul; 
how the player can produce effects of 
surpassing grace and exquisite airi- 
ness, followed in a trice almost as if 
some hidden thaumaturgy were at 
work, by majestic mountain-like 
chords of grandest dignity; how he is 
enabled to express the haunting melan- 
choly of a Slavic folk-song, the rich 
effluence of a Chopin melody, or the 
serene repose and the deeply religious 
emotion of Cesar Franck. 

It is by the action that these and 
manifold other effects are accom- 
plished at the hands of a master of the 
pianoforte, and, as may be readi-y con- 
ceived, the action must perforce be 
sensitively yet firmly made; it must 
respond instantly to the faint touch of 
a well-trained hand and it must with- 
stand the crashing blow of an im- 
passionate virtuoso ! 

Let us, then, examine its construc- 

The action consists of the hammers 
(made of wood covered with felt) 
which strike the strings ; the keys, 
which are depressed by the fingers of 
the player, and which in being de- 
pressed cause the hammers to strike 
the strings ; the pedals, and the mech- 
anism which permits of the operation 
of these various parts. The pedals 
may not usually be considered a part 
of the action, but their relation is so 
intimate that for all practical purposes 



r. O 

Model o# Action of Grand Pianoforte 

a, Key; b, Jack-beam; c , Key-lever; d, Jack; e , Butt; f, Hammer-shank; g, Hammer; 
h, String; i, Damper; k, Damper-lever; I, Repeating-lever; s , s, Leaden Weights 

it is fair so to consider them. The 
keyboard comprises seven and one- 
third octaves and the width of each key 
is so nearly uniform in all pianofortes 
that a player finds but little, if any, 
inconvenience from this source in play- 
ing an instrument strange to him. For 
each key there is a corresponding 
string, or set of strings, as already 
shown, and the difference in pitch be- 
tween the lowest tone in the bass and 
that of the highest tone in the treble 
is very considerable. Each key has it? 
corresponding- hammer, and the ham- 
mers which strike the great strings in 
the bass must obviously be thicker and 
greater in weight than the hammers 
which strike the small strings of the 
treble, and were it not for a practical 
adjustment more strength on the part 
of the player would be required to de- 
press a bass key than to depress a 
treble key. This difficulty is obviated, 
however, by weighting the keys them- 
selves so as to have a comparative uni- 
form requisite key pressure through- 
out the extent of the keyboard; small 
discs of lead are inserted in the sides 
of the wooden keys below the ivory 
tops for this purpose. When inserted 
toward the front their weight assists 
the player in depressing the ke\ ; when 
placed in the further end of the key, 
their weight makes a greater force 
necessary. By careful distribution of 
these leaden weights the key pressure 

becomes practically uniform through- 
out the extent of the keyboard, and, 
roughly speaking, the force required 
to depress the average key equals two 
and one-half ounces in weight. 

The felt covering the hammer heads 
must be neither too hard nor too soft; 
but, as the degree of firmness calcu- 
lated to produce most satisfying re- 
sults is never to be found in a natural 
state recourse is had to the tone regu- 
lator's needles. By pricking the felt 
thereby making it softer, the tone is 
made correspondingly softer; by quite 
another operation by which the ham- 
mer is made harder, a more brilliant 
tone is secured. Tone voicing is an 
art; and a poor tone regulator may 
greatly injure a tone which might 
otherwise be beautiful. 

The key, a, when depressed, raises 
the jack-beam, b, by means of the key- 
lever, c. As this takes place, the jack, 
d, or hopper, is carried upward until it 
strikes the butt, e, raising the hammer- 
shank, /, and in turn, the hammer, g, 
which strikes the string, h. As the 
hammer strikes the string, the damper. 
/ (and there is a damper for every 
string or set of strings), has raised 
simultaneously through a connection 
of the further end of the key with the 
damper- lever, k. The instant the string- 
is struck, the jack escapes from the 
butt, there being a place cut away in 
the repeating-lever, /, for this purpose. 



This escaping of the jack from the butt 
is an important feature and it is the 
cause of what is technically known* as 
the afterfall of the hammer — and it is 
the afterfall which causes a slight re- 
sistance noticeable when the key is 
slowly and partially depressed. Some 
players desire but little afterfall and 
some so much as to render the resist- 
ance pronounced. The afterfall can 
be regulated and adjusted to suit the 
individual. The jack is also an essen- 
tial feature and may be said to be the 
nexus between the individuality of the 
player and the instrument, for it is the 
mechanical transmitter of the player's 
touch. We have seen above that the 
instant the string is struck the jack 
escapes from the butt on the under 
side of the hammer-shank and that, at 
this same instant, the hammer falls 
back, away from the string; conse- 
quently a second tone is produced only 
by striking the string or unison a sec- 
ond time. 

The pianoforte is a percussive in- 
strument and the production of its tone 
is not continuous as in a violin, for 
instance. Obviously, then, any quiv- 
ering of the finger after the key is once 
depressed is ineffectual in affecting the 
tone and has no raison d'etre save pos- 
sibly a subjective one. 

The character of tone produced, in a 
given pianoforte, is dependent so far 
as the player is concerned almost en- 
tirely upon the dynamic weight and 
the elasticity with which the keys are 
struck, or depressed; and the instant 
the key is depressed, thereby causing 
its hammer to strike its corresponding 
string, or unison, the character of the 
resultant tone is established and that 
individual tone cannot be influenced or 
changed by any manipulation of the 
key. There is, however, one thing 
which can somewhat modify a tone 
once produced — the damper-pedal. And 
this brings us to the last topic for con- 
sideration, namely: 


Modern pianofortes are equipped 
with at least two pedals, more com- 
monly called the soft and loud pedals, 

but more properly known as the piano 
and the forte pedals ; and in the modern 
artistic grand pianoforte there is 
usually a third, known as the tone- 
sustaining or sostenuto pedal. 

The soft pedal, operated by the play- 
er's left foot, when pressed down shifts 
the entire keyboard bodily to the right, 
thereby changing the touch of the 
hammers against the strings so that 
one less string of each unison is struck 
than normally, except in the case of- 
the single bass strings, and they are 
struck by a softer part of the hammers. 
The string which is not struck does not 
remain silent, however, for it vibrates 
through the influence of other vibrat- 
ing strings. To this sympathetic vi- 
bration, beauteous in its nature, is to 
be attributed much of the charm of 
tone quality derivable from scientific 
usage of the soft pedal, a charm to 
which modern composers for the in- 
strument are not blind. In using the 
soft pedal, however, one should press 
the pedal down as far as it will go at 
once, and not only partially or grad- 
ually; for the strings, when the ham- 
mers in their normal position strike 
them, make ruts or indentations on the 
surface of the felt covering the ham- 
mers, and if the soft pedal is pressed 
only partially, thus shifting the key- 
board only partially, the strings are 
struck by a soft part of the felt and 
do not fall into these indentations; the 
result is a snarling quality of tone 
which is neither satisfying nor beau- 

Prior to 1830 there was a still further 
shift permissible, so that one string 
only of each unison was struck ; this 
was the una corda of Beethoven, it was 
controlled by a hand-stop at one side 
of the keyboard. In those days piano 
hammers were small and covered with 
leather, and the hammer blow was 
much less, so that the wear and tear 
were not nearly so great as with the 
large felt hammers and increased ham- 
mer-blow of the present day. For this 
reason, if for no other, the una corda 
would be hardly a desideratum in the 
modern instrument. 

The forte pedal is operated by the 



right foot and lifts all the dampers, 
thus permitting the strings to vibrate 
freely. When any single key is de- 
pressed and the loud pedal is in opera- 
tion the tone from the single string 
is reinforced by sympathetic vibration 
of other strings. This is equally true 
when more than one key is depressed. 
The result is an increased volume of 
tone, and since this increased volume 
is caused by the operation of this 
pedal, the latter is generally known 
as the loud or forte pedal. These ap- 
pellations, however, are erroneous, for 
this pedal is used quite as much in 
piano and pianissimo playing as in forte 
playing. Its proper name is Damper 
pedal. The player, by means of the 
damper pedal, controls a wealth of 
sympathetic vibration, and can also, at 
any instant, stop the vibration of 
strings that are in confusion or dis- 
cord. The damper pedal opens up an 
El Dorado of tone color and expression, 
though at the same time, horrible dictu, 
many a performance, beautiful in some 
respects, is marred by an inadequate 
understanding of its use. Ah! that a 
pabulum for pianists might be revealed 
which would unlock the secrets of 
pedaling even as the dragon's heart 
eaten by Siegfried enabled him to com- 
prehend the song-words of birds. 

The third pedal, referred to as the 
sostenuto, is confined largely to grand 
oianofortes. By its mechanism the 
dampers of any unison or group of 
unisons may be raised regardless of all 
others. Fascinating effects are thus 
made possible, among them being what 
is technically known as an organ-point 
—the sustaining of one distinct tone 
while others are sounding and con- 
stantly changing. 


A few words as to the general care 
of a pianoforte may not be out of place 
before ending this paper. 

The greatest foe of the pianoforte 
may be said to be the atmosphere; that 
is, atmospheric or climatic changes. 
Nothing will so soon put an instru- 
ment out of tune, for notwithstanding 

the exceeding care taken in the season- 
ing of the wood which enters into va- 
rious parts of its construction, it is 
impossible to render the finished piano- 
forte wholly impervious to atmosphere, 
or heat and cold. 

As a matter of fact, a grand piano- 
forte is less affected than an upright, 
because the strings, being horizontal, 
are in one stratum of temperature, 
while the strings of an upright, being 
perpendicular in their position, ob- 
viously at different points in their 
length, are in different strata of tem- 
perature. A draught, for instance, af- 
fects an upright pianoforte much more 
than a grand pianoforte. 

Like a plant, a pianoforte requires an 
even temperature for best results, and 
any change affects the strings, the iron 
plate, the wooden frame, the sounding- 
board, and so on, to a greater or lesser 
degree. Like any exceedingly com- 
plicated mechanism, it must' be consid- 
ered as a whole, sensitive and delicate, 
and while, if a little care and attention 
be given it, it will not only last a long 
time, but will actually improve with 
age, like good wine; still, if neglected 
or treated unsympathetically, it will 
soon fall off and deteriorate. It is like 
a high-strung, sensitive nature — re- 
sponsive to a degree if consideration 
and kindness be shown, but all out of 
sorts if ill-treated or neglected. 

Granted a moderately even tempera- 
ture, a pianoforte should be tuned at 
least four or five times each year — 
especially so the first year, for the 
strings (as well as various other parts) 
require time to become thoroughly set- 

It is not well to place a pianoforte 
near a heat register or radiator. 

When not in use the fall-board 
should be closed over the keys as a 
slight protection. 

The top lid should be closed when 
the instrument is not being played, 
to prevent dust, pins, etc., from lodg- 
ing on the sounding-board. 

Dampness is especially to be 
avoided, for, in addition to swelling the 
woodwork, it rusts the strings, tuning- 
pins, and other parts, and the corrosion 


eats into the metal and is generally men ; unstinted care and unflagging at- 

deleterious. The more perfectly sea- tention are indispensable. The manu- 

soned the sounding-board the more facturer of such an instrument may 

easily affected it is by dampness. count himself fortunate if the finished 

rn r pianoforte is ready for the hands of the 

CUxN^-LUoiUiN musician after eleven or twelve months 

The builder of a truly artistic of unremitting labor. His shibboleth 

pianoforte must have ever before him may well be "Perfection," and he him- 

the idea of quality, rather than quan- self a practical idealist, and, though 

tity. The wood, the metals, and the he may never attain his ideal, for such 

manifold component parts must be is the 'ot of mortals, still must he trudge 

thoroughly seasoned, selected, and on and on toward his goal. Well may 

tested. They must all be put in their he cry with Carlyle, "Courage and ever 

respective places by intelligent, skilled Forward!" 


(From a Soulier Serie-) 



I must renounce it, then — to touch your hand, 
To look upon your all too troubling face, 
To feel, like scent of flowers, the subtle grace 
Of you steal over me. I must command 
My soul that it should steadily withstand 
The lure of you, and your loved name efface 
From out my life where I have given it place 
As children blot out letters on the sand. 

And yet I cannot see the sunset sky, 
I cannot joy at some deed rarely kind, 
I cannot hear a child's heartbroken cry, 
But you are with me in my inmost mind ; 
And with all things I do, or low or high, 
Still you are interwoven and entwined. 


I am all spirit to him — a sad soul 

Here disembodied even before the grave, 

Renunciant of the joys that others crave, 

My lips athirst for Death's soon-proffered bowl ; 

And he with priest-like fervor, would console, 

With steady hand serene to calm and save 

The darkening heart that may not be too brave 

When it shall reach the uttermost of dole. 

And he to me — O body of me and heart ! — 
Is potency and longing and desire, 
He is that life in which 1 have no part, 
The will to be and do that does not tire, 
And at the touch of him there glow and start 
Strange latencies and stir of passion's fire. 

About the Hunter's Fire When 
Day is Done 


Illustrated by Roland C. Butler 

HAT an ideal day 
for a long hard 
hunt in the big 
woods ! Conditions 
could not have 
been better, but 
how far from ideal 
that day woul c! 
have been for the 
pursuit of any 
other sport. Long ere the first peep 
of light proclaimed the dawn, moc- 
casined feet pressed the west-wending 
trail and miles separated a pair ot 
eager sportsmen from the home camp 
when the woods awoke. 

Mord's voice, "For she's ma daisy," 
and the rattle of tin dishes from whicn 
deer's liver and hash with steaming 
coffee and hot biscuits had been hun- 
grily divorced, belonged to a period 
two hours back. 

A sighing breath among the tree- 
tops barred off the gentle swish of 
steadily falling rain, which frequently 
gave place to flurries of sleet until the 
forest murmured dreamy strains of an 
enchanting andante, that gave promise 
in its increasing volume of an allegro 
and presto when the powers of nature 
should burst from restraint. 

All night the storm had been gath- 
ering, stars fled away one by one at 
the approach of black-winged clouds 
and trees and underbrush shed tears 
upon the earth, lamenting the fickle 
affection of the god of day, until sod- 
den and silent leaves and grasses 
grateful to the foot, facilitated stealthy 
progress among swamps and over hog- 
backs through the hunting grounds. 

What if a swaying branch occasion- 
ally did feel about in the darkness, 
locate the space between one's bare 
neck and shirt collar and deliberately 
insert there a half pint of shiver- 
compelling slush, draw back and gently 
wipe off all lingering wetness across 
one's nose and eyes? 

Just a little in advance a small tree 
released itself from the shoulder of 
one's predecessor and whipped one 
smartly upon the cheek, filling one's 
mouth with the piney flavor of the 
drip from a big evergreen under which 
it grew, — but reminders that one could 
at last hunt without that frightful 
handicap of noisy woods. 

A "loud day" usually means an un- 
successful search for the children of 
the wilds, while demanding unremit- 
ting toil and unceasing vigilance, 
which it may reward with fleeting 
glimpses of startled game as it goes 
flying into the depths, tantalizingly 
waving a white flag in a soul-harrow- 
ing adieu, one's richest vocabulary 
proving utterly inadequate to the 
proper expression of emotion, though 
one is still bound to make the at- 

That low-lying land between the 
ridges was all afloat and the farther 
side was punctuated by a sound of 
churning water until it found escape 
between moccasin stitches, but it was 
hardly light when a sharp report 
changed a big doe from "eater" to 
"eatee" at the end of a half dozen fran- 
tic bounds. No second shot was 
needed, though five others could have 
sped from the Remington before she 




crossed the little clearing, so rapidly 
can the auto deliver the goods. 

Have you ever pulled up short after 
a good long tramp in the early morn- 
ing and challenged your appetite to 
"come out in the open and show what 
it can do?" Beats all how quickly one 
can forget he has eaten as heartily as 
he knows how but two short hours 
ago! _ m . liJtftM 

An old tree with a dry inside and 
a few of those dead branches from 
pine or spruce, furnished all the dry 
fuel required for a small fire against 
a rock, and be- 
t w e e n the 
forestick and 
the back one 
a can of coffee 
soon began to 
sing. Just a 
little toast — a 
slice or two of 
deer's heart 
and — there 
you are ! Fin- 
e s t meal in 
the world ! 
Hungry? Of 

If you are 
ever similarly 
situated, climb 
and bring to 
earth the head 
of that young 
birch, your 
weight hold- 
ing it while 
your compan- 
ion passes 
across it a 
short stick, 
sharpened, and 
inserts the 
ends under 
the big muscle 
just back of 
the doe's " There stood a young 
"knuckle," his velvet 

Stand away and the birch will spring 
from the ground, lifting your game 
into position to place props on either 
side, with crotch near the cross stick, 
and swing the deer aloft out of reach 

of the foxes. When you have dressed 
off your prize, do as those sportsmen 
did — depart in quest of more sport, 
leaving the doe to freeze at the tripod. 
Several days later you may have the 
exquisite pleasure of "sagging" your 
deer into camp. It's great exercise — 
try it. Your shoulders may feel better 
for a good rubbing, but never mind 

At noon the rain and sleet ceased 
and losing nothing of its velocity, a 
northwest wind had conversation with 
wood monarchs, who answered his 

with sundry 
groanings and 
all uniting to 
muffle the 
hunter's ap- 

Before three 
o'clock a 
buck with a 
fine set of 
antlers lay at 
the end of a 
careful stalk 
across a 
ridge, his wild 
rush for lib- 
erty ending at 
fifty paces 
from where 
he stood be- 
side a big 
' ' popple" 
when first 
sighted, a bul- 
1 e t through 
the fore shoul- 
der coming to 
him from out 
the unknown, 
without warn- 
i n g of the 
presence of a 
foe. He was 
a beauty and weighed more than two 
hundred pounds. 

"How many miles from the cabin, 
Hank? I have a notion we'd better 
beat it. For mine a hot-foot to a great 




big dinner with the boys before it gets 
black dark." 

"Wise gazabo that you are, 'But.' I'll 
take the same for mine. Light enough 
now, but before we cover that six 
miles to the stream, it'll be eyes on 
our toes for sure. Straight across 
country and no turning out ! Follow 
your leader." 

Forgetting all other than the cozy 
scenes awaiting them at camp, they 
plunged through brooks that came 
tearing down the valleys, splashed 
knee-deep across swamps and threaded 
their way among tangled bushes and 
dead vines, following a due east course 
by compass. As Hank had said, they 
turned out for nothing, little caring 
for the good soaking they were getting 
as they had been wet all day. Good 
woolens next to the body taboo that 
clammy sensation, and even though 
wet, are still warm when one is exer- 

An hour and a half from the time 
they left the ridges, they debouched 
into the clearing where the cabin stood 
and from the other side next the 
stream three figures were dimly vis- 
ible coming from the canoe landing. 

"Hello, Bill, any game?" called 

"Got three in the party. That Hank 
with you? Here's Chuc and Bob. 
Chuc's just come in — first time in the 
woods. Says it ain't like home. S'pose 
he'll like our boudoir mirrors and mor- 
ris chairs?" 

"That depends upon the color of his 
blood. If it's a good rich red he'll hear 
music that w r ill ring true and remind 
him of his ancestors and the good old 
days when toilets were not so elab- 
orate as now and the distant stars 
blinked in their eyes as they sank to 
rest on the bosom of Mother Earth," 
and striding in advance of the party. 
Hank set his foot against the camp 
door, which flew inward and a blaze 
in a big open fireplace sent a glare into 
the faces of his companions behind 
him, who paused for a moment before 
accepting a chorus of invitations to 
enter the charmed circle of good fel- 
lows, who were sprawled about in ex- 

ceedingly awkward, though doubtless 
comfortable, positions. 

Everything denoted a care-free party 
bent only upon getting all out of life 
there is in it. No frills were to be seen 
on any of the six men whose smiling 
faces turned toward the newcomers, 
unless the "moss" of the unshaven 
might be termed that. Flannel shirts, 
more or less open at the neck, soft 
woolen trousers or corduroy, with leg- 
gings and moccasins with the inevit- 
able leather belt and knife sheath in the 
middle of the back, a la mode woodsy 
— that was the prevailing costume. 

Deer and moose heads, with antlers 
crossed by rifles of ail makes and every 
caliber from 30-30 to 45-90, were every- 
where. The dining t"-ble along the 
cabin side never visited civilization 
and was born in the forest. Bunks, tier 
on tier, a washstand, and a few chairs, 
stools rough butchered together from 
gnarled limbs, and a "deacon's seat" 
and its mate completed the furnishing, 
with the exception of the "throne," a 
place of special'privilege, made by cut- 
ting a big barrel into reclining chair 
form, to be used only when the story- 
teller or honored guest held forth for 
the entertainment of the "bunch." 
Numerous deer skins were thrown 
about the floor. 

A big lamp, suspended from the cen- 
ter of the log rafters, reinforced the 
firelight and revealed rows of woolen 
stockings and sweaters draped about 
for drying, like festoons of sailors' 
truck in the rigging of a cruiser, while 
all about the smooth peeled logs of the 
cabin showed moss-crr'nked cracks, 
through which, in spite of all, the snap- 
ping eyes of the upper world could be 
seen on clear nights. A door at one 
side marked the entrance to the cook's 
quarters and a wholesome rattle of tin 
dishes told the story of "something do- 
ing" ere long. 

"The dead alive !" 

"Come in and hear this yarn from 
vSteve. He's hit only the high places 
all day and is dead sore, eh Sam?" 

"Hold that tale of woe till full stom- 
achs bear the strain better, old pal. 
Here, Hank, 'interjuice' your friends." 



''Line up ! Joe, Sam, Ed, Mord, 
Fred, and Steve — grip paws with Bill, 
Bob, and Chuc. That's good enough. 
You'd forget their long handles if I 
gave them to you. Get acquainted 
after dinner. I congratulate myself 
that I have presented these innocents 
to the slickest gang of second-story 
workers and all-around liars in the 
big woods. Paste that in your 
hat and sign the bond. 'But' and 
I will give the mixture a grain of 

The dual grind of the deacon seats 
and shuffling of feet under the long 
table denoted perfect unanimity of ac- 
ceptance of this courteous invitation, 
and after a few minutes of vigorous 
attack upon a big venison roast and its 
supporting batteries of vegetables, 
Steve mumbled an opening sentence of 
his grouch and the newcomers pricked 
up their ears as he took up his inter- 
rupted yarn. 

"That sure was plumb bad after such 
a chance as I had. Up there by the old 

[/'There stood the biggest and best buck I ever saw 

"Too small to taste at that. Birds 
of a feather you know. Your feathers 
are a trifle shy, but you flock our way 
1 notice." 

"Only bird house in this region, 
that's why. Don't think I love you 
or approve your doings. Nix for Hank. 
Some of you have a reason for living — 
others, well, you're here, that's all." 

"DINNER! do you hear, DINNER! 
Quit your kidding and fall to. Great 
snakes ! Must I drag you to the fes- 
tive board?" 

lean-to, with a fine fire burning under 
my coffee pot and hands full of grub, 
when I heard a crackling sound in the 
woods, looked over my shoulder, and 
there stood the biggest and best buck 
I ever saw in the Maine woods." 

"That's what they all say!" inter- 
polated Sam, and ducked under the 
table to escape a hot biscuit hurled 
with unerring aim at his left optic. 

"Score one for the nigger's head ! 
Say something else that's smart enough 
to grow whiskers a yard long, will 



you, and I'll fill both eyes next time. 
Put that infant in his crib ! I swear 
that deer was the cheese, and he stood 
looking at me with a saucy leer in his 
face until I swung up my rifle and let 
go at him. Never touched a hair and 
away he went. My feet were soaked, 
so I had taken off my stockings to let 
them dry while I was eating, and — " 

"And a deer had the crust to ap- 
proach? Must have been a fool deer, 
all right. Sure it was your stockings 
that were soaked?" 

"Back — back to your kennel, Mord. 
I up and after him in m}^ bare feet, and 
had gone about five hundred yards 
when I got a second shot, him stand- 
ing and poking his head around a big 
birch. Had as fine a chance as a man 
could ask for — missed him clean. Off 
he went." 

"Buck fever. You need a chap- 

"Not on your natural, Hank. I took 
all the time I needed and drew the bead 
right down fine into the notch. You 
ought to have seen the leaves dance 
and curl up at the fine line of dope I 
let off at the listening trees. Never 
knew I had so many choice and sul- 
phurous expletives in my repertoire, 
but they're there. 

"Over the ridge dashed Mr. Buck, 
and after him went 1. Two miles' 
chase along his spoor and I snapped at 
him as he broke across a clearing. 
Three misses and all good chances. 
Then I woke up. Setting up my hat 
as a target, I stepped back thirty 
paces, about the distance of my first 
trial and tried the gun. Overshot a 
foot. Tried again. Same result. Per- 
haps I was in a cheerful frame of mind 
to know my sights were off and me 
three miles from camp in my bare trot- 
ters with slush on the ground. Won- 
|der I'm sore? Sorer than my feet." 

"And I came along the ridge and 
followed your trail, thinking I was 
chasing bear signs. Sure they were 
— your bare feet. Boys', it was a sight 
the way Steve had crushed tender 
shoots and ripped up the landscape. 
Must have torn throjgh the woods 
with a temper like a cyclone with its 

tail stepped on. Awiul sight up 

"Don't rub it in, 'But.' Come away 
from that table — food was made to save 
life, not to take it. What was that 
fable you promised to give our smoke 
circle to-night? Here, fill your dhu- 
deen and get going with this piece of 
charcoal. Story an^ illustrations by 
'But' — sounds rich, don't it? All ready 
for the chorus," and swaying backward 
and forward in imitation of the cheer 
leader at college, Steve led the cry : 

"We want 'ButV story and pic- 
tures. We want 'But's' story and 

The tall chap sat back and chuckled 
until the noise subsided, puffed great 
clouds of smoke, threw his arms out 
each side for a good stretch, and, draw- 
ing a table toward him, spread a big 
sheet of paper and sketched rapidly 
as he talked. 

"A certain farmer up in New Hamp- 
shire had the life pestered out of him 
by numbers of neighborly deer, who 
would persist in visiting his garden 
patch, eat all they wanted, trample the 
rest, and generally act the nuisance. 
Pie made up his mind to outwit them 
and set about it this way. 

"No deer ever ventured there when 
any one was about, and if he could fool 
them into believing the patch had a 
permanent guardian the trick would be 
turned. He elaborately rigged up a 
scarecrow with arms extended wide 
and to complete his illusion, set an 
opened umbrella in the dummy's right 

"Of course, that device became the 
talk of the countryside and my 
farmer threw out his chest until he 
looked like a pouter pigeon, he felt so 
good. People said he had a right to. 
He thought that way, and for several 
days lorded it over his neighbors as a 
man of superior intelligence. 

"One day rain descended and the 
floods came, and along about 3 A.M. 
there was a knock at the farmer's door. 
Too sleepy to answer, he waited, hoping 
his disturber might go away. Bang- 
bang! No let up, and he went to the 



''What's wanted? Any one dying?' 
' 'No, Eben, but we have important 
business for you to aUend to, so you 
jest git shet of the bed and come along- 

"Something in the tone caused him 

to hurry on his clothing and descend to 

his back door, where his two nearest 

neighbors stood in *the driving storm. 

' 'Pretty day to call a man out into 

every citizen of our town takes such 
good care of the State's cattle. Mighty 
comfortable to be able to stand there 
and nibble good stuff and have good 
company all the time out of the wet.' 

"Eben took one long, amazed look, 
led the way back to the house, and 
solemnly set out the cider mugs, leav- 
ing this scene behind him." And 
"But" held up his finished sketch, 

w ■*;■-%? 




from a warm nest! Musi be some- 
thing big.' 

'Well, I should hanker. Come on 
behind the barn.' 

"As they turned the corner Eben 
got a start he never recovered from. 
There stood his scarecrow doing busi- 
ness at the old stand with upraised 
umbrella, under which posed a young 
buck gently rubbing his velveted ant- 
lers against the handle. 

''Mighty clever idea, Eben; 'taint 

A hunter's camp 

roost fr eight 
pig in a stocking 

which provoked a burst of .laughtei 
and many a facetious remark in th< 
course of the evening. 

"It's mighty lucky for you, 'But, 
that a 'certain illustrious citizen of this 
great and glorious country of ours 
never heard that startling tale, for if h< 
had, the other nature fakirs would hav< 
to pass it up to you — that crown thing 
I'll bet this yarn was born in youi 
think-box. Got any more like it?" 

"Here's one Hank told me to-day 




OFF he walked with more than a bushed of 

away over beyond Dungarvey. He had 
me posted at the foot of a long slope 
that was fairly criss-crossed with deer 
signs. I just took notice and mentally 
labeled the runaways 'Buck Avenue,' 
'Doe Boulevard,' and 'Fawn Play- 
ground,' when I heard a noise like a 
cavalry charge, and over the ridge, right 
into my face and eyes, ran two does and 
a few paces to the rear came a fine 
buck. They never saw me at all, and 
I guess would have run right over me 
if I hadn't opened on them. I'll bet I 
overshot the buck at least three feet 
and of all the getting out you ever 


saw ! They're going yet. I was some 
disgusted. Hank, tell that story you 
cheered me up with." 

"I will if you'll all promise not to 
punctuate it with growls like 'But' 
did. Can't blame him though. He re- 
fers to a strictly accurate story I'll 
vouch for, because it was told to me 
by my friend Fred Parke, one of the 
best fellers that ever drew breath and 
a taxidermist up at the head of Moose- 
head Take. Fred never tells lies and 
I guess this tale will stand salt all right. 

'A certain friend of his in Green- 
ville Junction is death on hedgehogs 



and puts in a lot of Ins time getting 
after them and boring them full of 
holes with his 38-55. Matters have 
taken such a turn now that the bitter- 
est kind of a feud exists between him 
end the porcupine tribe, and he swears 
the quilled pigs lie av ake nights to 
do him dirty. Here's one instance he 
quotes : 

" 'Down in my apple orchard them 
pesky critters had a merry-go-round 
that was a caution and their pizen 
marks was everywhere. Looked like 
an army had carried on a Red and 
Blue war every night. One evening I 
took Jed and chased myself inter the 
lot before sundown and held tight ter 
watch fer 'em. Bright moonlight made 
all plain, and pretty soon we saw a 
forty-pounder sneaking along a limb 
of a tree we'd jest picked that day. 
"Stung,!' thinks I, he'll have his climb 
fer nuthin', when I see him stop and 
look down at a big pile of seconds we'd 
left on ther ground fer ther cider barrel. 

" 'Fer a full minute lie oggled them 
apples, then hunched himself inter a 
ball, stuck out every quill and tum- 
bled on his back off ther limb inter 
that pile. He jest kinder squirmed 
when he struck 'em and got up and 
waltzed away with mure'n a bushel of 
apples stickin' all over him. I'll be 
jiggered if I could shcot ther son of 
er gun and let him git plumb off with 
his load. True, by gosh!'" 

"Mnrder — help ! Yon bellows are get- 
ting more and more dangerous. Pretty 
soon you'll be believing" yourselves, 
then the dippy house for yours," and 
Chuc, the latest arrival, threw up his 
hands and fell in a faint, from which 
he was quickly aroused by a faceful of 
smoke from a strong ripe, which set 
him gasping for breatn ir dead earnest, 
but he refused to believe the porcupine 
story, even when "But" showed him 
the pictures. Strange some men are 
so incredulous ! 

It is inevitable thai, horse-play be 
indulged in when there is a tenderfoot 
in camp, and in guileless fashion, Steve 
and Bert got into an argument with 
Hank and Sam over the relative merits 
of Arrah na Pogue and The Clerk. 

"What's the controversy?" asked 
Chuc, when others by their perfect in- 
difference made his question oppor- 
tune. "Is this 'Clerk' something to do 
with lumbering life?" 

"Surest thing you know, kid," grave- 
ly replied Steve. "Come on down here, 
fellows, and we'll show him what we 
mean. All around in a circle on the 
floor, feet toward the middle, and Chuc 
in the center. Now th 1 <= is the kind of 
a trade we usually make with the clerk 
in the woods." 

For an instant Chuc was inclined to 
remain outside this strange game, but 
so guileless did the nun appear that 
he at length sat within the charmed 
band, the members of which asked the 
question, "What you going to pay us 
for our day's work? Here we been wad- 
ing snow drifts and cutting timber for 
you and no money. What do we 

§" et? " 

Entering into the spirit of the fun, 

Chuc began an argument as what each 
man was worth, trying to hire them 
as cheaply as possible, until they pre- 
tended to get exasperated at his mean- 
ness, cried, "He'd Jew us — he's no good 
— kick him out !" and closing in from 
all sides, they began to kick with their 
stockinged feet until they had raised 
him from the floor and were turning 
him over and over like a "big ball in mid 
air. As soon as he saw his chance, he 
tackled the nearest man, who then be- 
came the "Clerk" and the sport went 
on. Chuc had been initiated. 

When the squad had recovered their 
breath, Hank's full baritone started the 
chorus into a full swing of popular 
songs, after which the party witnessed 
a "rooster fight" between Bill and Bob 
that resulted in Bob's ignominious de- 
feat. Bob began the fun by getting 
away to one side of the cabin. 

"Flap-flap-flap, cock-a-doodle-doo ! No 
rooster dares come on my yard ! I'm 
the cock of the walk — I am ! Cock-a- 
doodle-doo-a-rue-a-rue !" 

Quickly Bill took up the challenge, 
strutting and crowing in derision, and 
the "spurs" were produced immedi- 
ately. These consisted of stout sticks 
about three feet long, sharpened on 



each end. The "roosters" were made 
to sit on the floor, knees up and hands 
clasped about them, where they were 
securely tied. The "spurs" were then 
run through between the elbows and 
knees, the "roosters" placed about four 
feet apart and given the word. 

Hitching toward each other, they got 
close, when Bob suddenly turned side- 
wise and made a lunge at Bill, but in 
so doing lost his balance as Bill dodged, 
and over he went on his side. Quick 
to take advantage of his enemy, Bill 
closed in and bradded Bob to his heart's 
content, until he cackled in token of 
defeat. All joined in a barnyard chorus 
of bleats, moos, and every kind of noise 
even to the bray of a jackass. 

Mysterious disappearances were now 
becoming the order, until Hank, Tom, 
Steve, and "But" looked up from a 
game of "bid whist" to discover that 
they were alone in the big room with 
the fire running low, while breath- 
ings long and deep told the story of 
the departure for sandland of their 
tired comrades. With ?. look into each 
other's faces, they arose from the table 
and got into their flannel pajamas, 
then climbed into bunks never more in- 

In a very few minutes, "But" re- 
remarked drowsily, "Gee, but I'd like 
another try at that buck to-morrow. 
Hank — do you reckon — " 

A strenuous snore was the only reply. 



The pool's fair face is troubled, yet grief it doth not know ; 
The flutter of the light wind's kiss leaves depths unstirred below. 
The mountain is eternal, yet Untouched by hoary age, 
The crown of snow upon its head is not time's heritage. 

-Photograph by Chiclcering 

Hon. Nathaniel H. Taylor 

Who will Administer the New Charter 



THE recent formal announcement 
by Nathaniel H. Taylor, the 
leading- editorial writer of the 
Boston Daily Globe, that he is a Demo- 
cratic candidate for Mayor of Boston 
made a deep impression on the residents 
of that city. The declaration also cre- 
ated a sensation, followed by warm ap- 
proval, in newspaper circles, where Mr. 
Taylor has been regarded favorably for 
many years. Not only is he well 
known to Boston journalists, but in 
hundreds of newspaper offices in many 
states he has long been recognized 
as one of the best all-around men in 
the profession. 

This Democratic candidate for the 
Mayoralty, known to many thousands 
as "Nat" Taylor, is one of the most 
modest and conscientious laborers in 
the field of journalism. The merits 
he possesses will never be known 
from his lips. The writer will en- 
deavor to point out briefly a few of 
those merits. 

The office of Mayor calls for the 
possession of varied qualifications by 
the incumbent thereof. Mr. Taylor 
possesses many of these qualifications. 
Besides his newspaper experience, Mr. 
Taylor in the early 70's was with the 
Union Pacific Railway for a time and 
was assistant clerk of the Massa- 
chusetts House of Representatives in 
1873 an d 1874. For the two years 
following he was in Washington 
with the National Bureau of Educa- 

His municipal training has been ex- 
ceptionally thorough. He was Mavor's 
secretary eight years and City Collec- 

tor for four years, offices that were 
unsought by him and which he 
assumed at the urgent request of 
Mayors. The present is the only pub- 
lic position he has ever sought, and, as 
will be seen later, he seeks this solely 
at the earnest solicitation of a host 
of citizens of his native city. 

In Boston during the past three 
years there has been a thorough over- 
hauling of the affairs of the munici- 
pal government by a finance commis- 
sion, and another finance commission 
is now in full power for the purpose 
of supervising the city business. 
There has been tremendous excite- 
ment during these three years in 
municipal circles. The citizens have 
demanded better government and the 
Legislature has stepped in and added 
more amendments to the city charter, 
with the expectation that such amend- 
ments will strengthen the government 
and tend to prevent waste and ex- 
travagance in the departments. 

These charter amendments are 
quite radical in some respects, and 
consequently there has been much 
speculation as to who would be the 
best man to elect as chief magistrate 
to put the charter amendments into 
force and thereby satisfy the wishes of 
the taxpayers. 

A large number of aspirants for the 
office have come forward during the 
year, but it can be truthfully said that 
many of them have retired from the 
field. Several still assert in guarded 
language in the press that they "may 
be" candidates. Mr. Taylor, how- 
ever, is the first to formally announce 




his candidacy on the Democratic side. 
In his announcement he says: 

"A firm believer and lifelong advo- 
cate of the true and righteous princi- 
ples of Democracy, I have an un- 
swerving and unfaltering faith that 
strict adherence to those sound, basic 
principles in municipal administration 
can alone secure to our citizens the 
benefits and blessings of proper civil 
government and insure equal rights to 

"My platform will be 'Honest Gov- 
ernment.' " 

Now, strange as it may seem to 
many, Nat Taylor believes that the 
office should seek the man. Before 
entering the field, therefore, he had 
a complete canvass made among the 
Democratic voters. He desired to 
know positively whether or not he 
was wanted by the people. He was 
satisfied completely on that point, 
hence his candidacy. He is the candi- 
date, therefore, of the people, and not 
of any political bosses. 

The citizens of Boston desire a safe, 
competent, and conservative Mayor. 
It is known by them that Mr. Taylor 
should be able to meet all the require- 
ments because of his wide experience 
in municipal matters. For example : 
He is the only living man to-day in 
Boston who had anything to do with 
putting the charter amendments of 
1885 into operation, and his services at 
that time received the highest praise 
from press and people, irrespective of 

When he became Mayor's secretary 
in 1885, under Mayor Hugh O'Brien, 
the city was being administered under 
the charter of 1854, which law was 
framed by Chief Justice Shaw. Under 
the 1854 charter all the executive busi- 
ness of the city was despatched by 
committees of the city council. Mr. 
Taylor became familiar, therefore, 
with that phase of charter work. Soon 
the charter amendments of 1885 
changed affairs, so that boards and 
heads of departments appointed by 
the Mayor transacted all the executive 
business and the only important func- 
tion of the city council was to pass 

the annual appropriation bill and the 
loan orders, the members being pro- 
hibited from having anything to do 
with the executive business. 

Mr. Taylor labored for eight months 
in conjunction with Mayor O'Brien in 
putting the charter amendments of 
1885 into operation, and thereby be- 
came thoroughly conversant with the 
details of the work in every depart- 
ment. It required about eight months 
to frame ordinances that would agree 
with the provisions of the new act. 
When those ordinances were finished 
the labors of the Mayor's force were 
lightened somewhat, but all the time, 
week after week, the Mayor's office 
was obliged by the charter amend- 
ments to keep in close touch with the 
departments in order that there should 
not be waste and extravagance. If 
there was any "grafting" it was ex- 
posed promptly and remedies applied, 
the same as would be done in any well 
regulated, business house under like 

The newspaper men who ha J to 
"cover" City Hall in those days and 
subsequently, when Mr. Taylor was 
Mayor's secretary for four years more 
in Mayor Matthews's administrations, 
were familiar day by day with Sec- 
retary Taylor's tasks and fully appre- 
ciated his remarkable executive abili- 
ties. His associates have always 
noticed his rapid yet methodical man- 
ner of transacting public business and 
rightly attribute it to his calm, even 
temperament. It was this tempera- 
mental gift which undoubtedly made 
it possible for him to become — in addi- 
tion to a reporter and editor — one of 
the swiftest and most accurate short- 
hand court reporters, which vocation 
he followed for a number of years 
in his early career, traveling in many 
parts of the United States and report- 
ing in the highest courts. 

A newspaper the other day said very 
truthfully of Mr. Taylor/ "He is a 
many-sided man — he came into the 
public offices he has held because of 
his experience as a skilled stenog- 
rapher, through his remarkable ability 
to keep a closed mouth when silence 



was a distinguished virtue, through 
his intimate familiarity with Boston 
and Massachusetts politics, through 
his almost infinitely wide personal ac- 
quaintance with all the men who are 
worth knowing in New England, and 
in short, because he is and always has 
been 'Nat' Taylor, newspaper man, 
auditor, expert accountant, confiden- 
tial adviser and actuary. " 

During the four years that he was 
City Collector of Boston, Mr. Taylor 
collected about $120,000,000, and 
when he resigned that office — the ad- 
ministration having changed from 
Democratic to Republican — official ex- 
pert accountants, appointed by the 
City Auditor, examined and found his 
accounts correct. During his adminis- 
tration of that office — the most im- 
portant in the city, outside of the 
Mayoralty — he conducted it on an 
annual appropriation of $50,000 less 
than it has been managed yearly since, 
and he collected a larger percentage of 
all the taxes than has ever been col- 
lected in any subsequent year, besides 
having a smaller percentage of out- 
standing taxes than any subsequent col- 
lectors — all of which was ascertained 
and reported by the finance commis- 
sion when it was investigating the 
affairs of the departments in City 
Hall. His experience in the Mayor's 
office, as well as in the financial de- 
partments, gave him exceptional op- 
portunities, which his writings show 
he improved, to understand thor- 
oughly all the actual facts relating to 
the assessment of property, tax rate, 
debt, loans, and kindred matters. 

Above all else, this candidate for 
Mayor is a prodigious worker. He 
has always been on some pay-roll since 
he began his career as a reporter at 
the age of sixteen on the Boston Daily 
Times. He belongs to the two weeks' 
brigades of vacationists, never, except 
when he went abroad one summer, 
having ever had more than two weeks 
for a vacation. In the early days of the 
Boston Globe he worked loyally with his 
only brother, General Taylor, to help 
build up that now prosperous journal, 
and he is still at his post of duty. 

. Being a worker himself, Mr. Tay- 
lor's sympathies are always with 
those who must earn their living. It 
was the practice formerly at City Hall 
to suspend a large number of men 
from time to time. This led to so 
much dissatisfaction that Mr. Taylor 
conceived the idea of keeping the 
laboring forces at work from January 
1 to January 1, or all the year round. 
He unfolded his plan to Mayor 
Matthews. The consequence was that 
the superintendent of streets, who 
then controlled seven divisions — pav- 
ing, sewer, street cleaning, etc. — was 
called in and instructed to lay aside 
enough money so that it would b? un- 
necessary to make discharges and sus- 
pensions for lack of funds. This was 
the beginning of the permanent basis 
system of employment, the idea being 
to carry on the rolls as many men as 
were actually necessary and keep 
them busy the entire year. Recently 
this system was upset. Any one who 
knows Mr. Taylor cannot doubt for 
an instant that, if elected Mayor, he 
would put the force of laborers on 
a permanent basis again, and not al- 
low them to be suspended for lack of 
funds, and thereby lose their chance 
to go on the pension list, when the 
pension question is settled. 

The next Mayor of Boston should 
be perfectly familiar with all matters 
relating to the finances of the city. 
Mr. Taylor has not only made a care- 
ful study of these matters but he has 
had such a long and practical experi- 
ence in the Mayor's office as secretary 
that he knows exactly how to manage 
the financial affairs of the municipality 
to the satisfaction of the citizens. 

The coming Mayor will be called on 
also to so conduct the municipal busi- 
ness that it can withstand the close 
scrutiny of a financial commission, 
which, appointed by the Governor of 
the Commonwealth, has full authority 
to investigate the work of every depart- 
ment and board whenever it sees fit, to 
ascertain if there is honest administra- 
tion, or if there is any malfeasance or 

An incompetent Mayor would soon 


get into trouble with this finance com- interests of all the taxpayers. Her 
mission, as well as with numerous citizens are doing some deep think- 
civic organizations, and his services ing on this subject. A factional 
would be very unsatisfactory in a very Mayor could not improve civic affairs, 
short time. The municipal business no matter how hard he tried. Mr. 
cannot be learned in a few weeks or Taylor, who has launched himself at 
a few months. Mr. Taylor's special the request of Democratic friends and 
training, therefore, renders him the supporters, would not have to waste 
best candidate for the office at this two years learning the duties o£ the 
critical stage in our city affairs. office, as an inexperienced man would 
Boston needs a strong and experi- have to do. He is not mixed up in 
enced Mayor. She needs a Mayor who factional political quarrels. He has 
is fully qualified to discharge the always been successful in everything 
grave duties of the office. The time he has undertaken. If Boston chooses 
for experimental mayors has passed, him for Mayor her municipal affairs 
The city requires the services of a man will be conducted by a man of good 
who will be the Mayor of the whole moral character and one whose lion- 
city, one who will protect the varied esty and ability cannot be questioned. 



Over the zenith crept a haze, 
Till hid from sight the sun ; . 

Chilled was this last of golden days, 
And all the sky was dun. 

Sullen and grim the portent spread; 

The earth seemed pinched and old ; 
Prey to a latent, gnawing dread 

Of famine and of cold. 

Out of the dark and low'ring sky 
The flakes came wafting down; 

Here on the waiting earth to lie, 
Which else were bare and brown, 

Coating with purest white each mar 

All pitiless revealed, 
Age and anguish and naked scar 

The gracious snow concealed. 

Aye, from that portent grim to view 

The cloak of mercy fell ; 
Kindly as summer's rain or dew; 

The winter's miracle. 

Abandoned Roads 


"An old road, grass-grown and forgotten, now faintly traced and now disappearing alto- 
gether, is invested with mingled charm and awe. The whole countryside has become a palim- 
psest by the tracings of the roads and paths of succeeding generations." — Mary Anna Tarbell. 

OF all the summer pastimes, 
sports, and avocations ever ex- 
tolled in the magazines devoted 
to outdoor recreation, I never saw a 
word of the science of road-exploring. 
And yet there is nothing more fascinat- 
ing; it appeals alike to the antiquarian 
and to the lover of nature; yes, and is 
not without its atom of danger beside. 

Materials of first necessity : a top- 
buggy long since relegated to the 
back shed, innocent of varnish and 
stout beyond the deacon's dreams ; sec- 
ond, an ancient nag, capable of forging 
through an unbroken clump of birches, 
straddling a ditch, or pirouetting his 
way across a rotten bridge, with con- 
stant unruffled equanimity; third, a 
calm and wary driver, skilled in the 
devices of his special art. Desiderata: 
a good road-map, an axe, and a rope. 

With such an equipment my expert 
driver and I set forth one July day to 
investigate a certain locality long 
under consideration. We have be- 
come acquainted, by map and by ex- 
perience, with a network of well- 
traveled highways, which in an ab- 
stract appear as in the accompanying 
diagram. (Plan No. i.) 

Observe the gap between A and B. 
There are no houses at those junc- 
tions, nor are the roads that leave 
them of special importance; ergo, it 
is not mere chance that .brings them 
into exact line; there ought to be, 
must be, is, a forgotten thoroughfare 
spanning the mile interval. There is 
no indication of it on the old county 
map, but never mind, it shall be re- 
stored to our private copy. 

We make our start in the morning, 
when the night must have been 
burned away, leaving behind a sparkle 
of dew upon the grass ; when the 
vireos are making the wayside trees 
ring with their chatter, and now and 
then a black-throated green warbler, 
from the top of a distant pine, lets fall 
his dainty watchword of "Trees, trees, 
murmuring trees." The highways are 
dry and sandy, but soon we shall be 
tracking a sodden, path, unknown 
either to plodding farmers or stylish 
rigs from the summer hotel. 

Even the loitering pace of Rock, 'our 
veteran back-roadster, in time puts the 
miles behind, and from between dusty 
lanes of alder, birch, and pine we ar- 
rive at the three-corners, A. True to 
our reasoning, behold the Abandoned 
Road, grass-grown, deserted. No 
fence bars the way, and heavy ruts 
indicate that logging teams have pene- 
trated there in the past spring Our 
advance is easy and open. We cross 
a marshy lowland, where old Rock 
sinks to his ankles in mud, but plods 
floundering through. Beyond, a rise 
among thick pines, where the needles 
crackle fragrantly under the wheels. 
There the loggers turned away to the 
right to seek their spoil, but we con- 
tinue straight, guided by the gap, 
through the boles, like a cathedral 
aisle between its pillars, and by the 
double line of stone-walls. How long 
ago, I wonder, did the sturdy pioneers 
heap up those moss-grown embank- 
ments of gray granite, and thereby 
clear their mowings also? They 
builded well and for the future, but 

i8 3 



Pean No. i.— Roads in Tempeeton, Mass. 

now their work lies obscured among 
the trees, serving- only to mark the 
deserted route of a buried generation. 
They did not scant the land for their 
roads in those days ; no country lane 
is this, but a highway spanning a good 
hundred feet from wall to wall. 

Over the hill we drive, and ^own 
across a brook where the successive 
floods of years have washed away the 
small stone culvert, and Rock has an 
opportunity to show his skill. He 
carefully plants his hoofs on the slip- 
pery slabs, and with a leap lands on 
the other side ; the -tough vehicle bobs 
after with a thump, which nearly 
sends us off the seat, and we follow, 
swaying, in the wake of the quad- 
ruped. It is seldom that these old 
culverts are found in such bad condi- 
tion ; this one was small and compara- 
tively weak. Usually they are built 
like a Cyclopean wall and endure like 
one. The foundations are of granite 
blocks, the top of a huge single slab, 
and no cement or mortar was em- 
ployed. The modern concrete arches 
compete with them in durability, but 
not in picturesqueness. 

Next the varied way leads through 
an alder thicket, grown up so closely 
that the branches lash us in the face, 
or would did we not hastily raise the 
carriage-top for protection. A tiny 

brook has usurped the once worn road 
and drenched it with spring freshets 
till only a bed of pebbles remains 
Thence we emerge in course and entei 
another grove of evergreens. 

At the top of a hill the horse comes 
to a halt against the trunk of a greal 
fallen pine. Out jumps the drivei 
for a bit of scouting. He returns 
shortly and reports the railway ahead 
But there are gates in the fence or 
both sides, and so we escape the faller 
tree by a detour, and cross the bare raik 
with rude bumps. The banks on eithei 
side the track show unmistakably tha' 
the road had been given up before th( 
railway was built, in the neighberhooc 
of 1874. 

Now we are practically sure o: 
effecting a passage to the end, foi 
where there are gates there are mer 
who open them, and they did not entei 
from our direction. Probably Farmei 
Doolittle comes that way to fetch hL< 
"medder hay." 




In five minutes more we emeree on 
the dusty beaten road at B, just ac- 
cording to our calculation. In that 
short transit we have experienced all 
the titillation of uncertainty, all the 
thrill of exploration, and all the 
triumph of a problem correctly solved. 
Then nome; five miles of ihe comifton- 
place which all men travel. 

We are not always so successful. 
There is a fa- 
vorite drive 
which was dis- 
covered through 
a baffled attempt 
a t exploration. 
The problem 
first appeared in 
this shape : 

See our second 
diagram to trace 
the obliterated, 
route from C to D. 
Nearly all these 
roads, even the 
mapped ones, are 
grass-grown rel- 
ics which once 
served farms 
now abandoned. 
It is a surprise to 
.he uninitiated to 
le a r n how far 
one can travel 
in Massachusetts 
on such a skele- 
ton of a defunct 
era. At times it 
parallels the 
main roads of to- 
day; again it 
forms short cuts 
from town to 
own, marking 
always the 

straightest and hilliesj courses. A fif- 
een per cent grade was nothing to the 
six-horse stages which used to thunder 
lown the hills, gathering momentum 
or the upgrade. 

What enchanting spots we pass as 
ve enter from the Gardner side! 
ftrst, descending a long hill between 
mflanking rows of pines, to an old 
tone bridge in the loveliest dell in the 


world, where the sun, glinting between 
the thick leaves overhead, Hecks the 
mossy slabs of stone and still mossier 
boulders in the stream below; then up 
a steep rise to an open hilltop disclos- 
ing a view far off across the valleys. 
There, on a finely chosen site, stood a 
farmhouse in years long gone; now 
there remains only the grassy cellar 
hole, mounded about with unusual 
care, and guard- 
ed in front by 
two of the hand- 
somest elms in 
all New Eng- 
land. The barn 
was placed 
across the road 
and down the 
hill, low enough 
not to obstruct 
the view. Such 
mounds and cel- 
lais and trees 
are to this new 
country what 
ivy-clad ruins 
are to the older 
lands of Europe, 
relics and land- 
marks of her 
early history. 

Not much far- 
ther on we reach 
the beginning of 
the unknown at 
point C. A 
swinging gate 
separates us 
from a sheep- 
run ; we open 
and enter. One 
stone-wall yet 
remains to indi- 
cate the old 
by it we drive 
pasture down a 
gentle slope. We thread a grove of 
birches, cross a brook, and enter a pine 
wood. A section of the second wall 
appears on the left, preserved as 
usual, where there are pines. We are 
confronted by a fallen tree; chop 
through it and pass on. But to-day 
fate fights against us. The course, 

course; and guided 
leisurelv across the 




still well defined, descends into a 
swamp, where luxurious nature defies 
our efforts. In vain we chop down 
some trees, override others, and push 
ahead at the risk of capsizing ; the 
trunks grow thicker still and closer, 
and perforce we must turn back. 

But we do not leave our task with- 
out another attempt. Forcing a way 
through a cow pasture to the traveled 
road which runs parallel, we make a 
circuitous way to point D. Not one 
man in a hundred passing by would 
dream that a highway ever existed on 
that spot. Pines, beeches, hemlocks 
six inches in diameter, are growing in 
the former wheel-track, and only the 
twin walls of granite cobbles still bear 
rheir enduring witness to man's handi- 

I wonder whether such scenes are 
to be found outside New England. 
Does the red clay of Virginia or the 
sand of Florida lend itself to the per- 
petuation of abandoned roads? Surely 
the newer regions of the great West 

can show nothing of the kind. For 
their existence in their present state 
is largely due to the great relocation 
of population in the nineteenth century, 
the movement from the hilltops to the 
valleys. Our forefathers planted their 
villages and their slender spires where 
they might be visible from miles away, 
and careless of time and toil, lined 
their roads by compass, not by con- 
tour. Their children, drawn by the 
later lure of railways and water pow- 
ers, were compelled to descend to the 
valleys, leaving behind them those 
"old towns" or "centers" which very 
recently are reviving under the wave 
of outdoor life and summer visitors. 
Thus new lines of traffic were estab- 
lished, and the old, voted out of exist- 
ence by unfeeling selectmen, are left 
to be retnrfed and forested by nature. 

There is an humbler sort of Aban- 
doned Road, the poor cousin of the 
discontinued highway. It is not dig- 
nified with walls, nor was it ever laid 
out with rod and transit, to serve the 



public at town or county expense and 
risk. Some private citizen made it to 
reach his mowing, or to cut off his 
first-growth pine. These are the dim 
and devious ways you see entering 
the woods in aimless fashion as you 
drive along the dusty highway, and, 
perhaps, incuriously wonder "where 
does that road go?" It is our task 
and pleasure to learn, and many the ad- 
ventures into which we are led 

One day the vanishing trail crosses 
an open field, and the only sign of the 
true path is the wheel ruts, deep worn 
in the sod. When all other traces 
have been effaced, these remain. And 
yet they serve in a curious manner to 
obstruct the passage, for in the broken, 
ground of the ruts the seeds of birch 
and pine find readier lodgment than 
elsewhere, with the result that lusty 
sprouts spring up in the track itself, 
when the remaining field is clear. 

At another time we find ourselves 
involved in such a tangle of young 
birches that only consummate skill 
in driving brings us through. Bend- 
ing to earth the younger saplings, 
grazing a stout tree on the right, 
barely missing a huge stump on the 
left, we emerge at last, and see below 
us a hill steep as a barn roof. Then it 
is necessary to remove the horse from 
the shafts and lead him down. A pole 
is thrust through the rear wheels, a 
rope fastened to the rear axle, and 
the carriage lowered by hand. 

Again, we may wander in groves of 
shadowy evergreens, as yet untouched 
by the devouring portable sawmill. 
Dead limbs fallen across the road snap 
as we pass over, and startle a medi- 
tative rabbit chewing wintergreen 
leaves beneath the ferns. Not infre- 
quently we are halted suddenly in the 
back yard of an amazed and indignant 
farmer, who must know where we 

An oi<d stone bridge 



came from, how we got there, and 
whether we left any bars down for 
his cows to escape. 

1 have spent the odd moments of 
three summers in exploring the neigh- 
borhood of one small town, and have 
not yet sounded all its recesses. The 
riches of New England's abandoned 
roads are inexhaustible. Do not think 
either that you must plunge toward 
the thinly settled rim to find them ; 
next the very hub, within ten miles of 
Boston, there are choice examples ; on 
the meadowy banks of the Charles 
you may find the massive cellars and 
architectural elms where once stood 
the seats of fertile farms, now barren. 
Thousands pass near them every year 
in automobiles, and do not know of 
their existence. 

They were rich and varied days — ■ 
those spent in traversing now the 
silent woods of the thrushes, and 
now the clearings where the white- 
throated sparrow preaches from a lone 
birch, and the chewink skulks through 

Plan No. 2. — Roads in Winchendon and 
Gardner, Mass. 

the bushes flaunting his white tail- 
feathers, now passing in review 
deserted hearthstones, and again ven- 
turing into regions hardly brought 
under cultivation. Whether in spring, 
when the turf is soggy with melting 
snow, or in exuberant summer, or 
under the leafless boughs and over 
the crackling twigs of the failing year, 
the forgotten road opens the surest 
way to unhackneyed nature, and to 
an understanding of what New Eng- 
land really is. 

In an old wood lot 

Drawing Out Steel 


CLANG-tilli-ing-clang-clang rang, 
rang the anvil in Martin Har- 
vey's forge. The air was heavy 
with soft coal smoke and the odor of 
burning hoofs. Bernard Carroll wilted 
before the fire while one limp arm op- 
erated the bellows which sent blue, yel- 
low and vermillion flames bursting 
Vesuvius-like through the soft black 
mound. While the mass grew slowly 
red, his mind recalled the day, three 
months before, when he had reluctantly 
accompanied his mother to the black- 
smith's door, where, clear through the 
din of rasps and the snorting of uneasy 
animals, her soft tones had voiced their 
appeal : "Martin, 1 come to ask a favor 
from ye. Make a mechanic of my 
son !" The Vulcan of Pavington had 
brushed a scale of iron from his cheek 
with one brown knuckle, eyed him, and 
turned to his mother. 

"He's light for the work, Missis 
Carroll, but I'll do me best by him !" 

He would never forget that day and 
his own reluctance in yielding to his 
mother's wish. Her years of toil to 
care for him and retain the little house 
and strip of land at the bend of the 
creek were vivid in his mind and his 
own desires must not matter. He 
would please her. 

All the days that followed were 
filled with keenest suffering for him. 
Continual hammering and the lifting 
of weighty and reluctant horses' feet 
strained new sets of muscles which 
sent him limping slowly home at night. 
He felt sometimes that he could not 
endure the pressure much longer. 

It was evening at the forge. The 
pale glow of the sinking sun was re- 
flected in minature by the smithy fire. 
The shop was at last clear of snorting 
animals and Bernard sought out the 
nail bench for a moment's rest, but 

Martin's severe voice cut the stray frag- 
ment of silence with this command : 
"There's steel to be drawn to-day !" 
Bernard dragged his lame body back 
to the forge to take his part in the 
testing of the metal. Plis aching eyes 
watched the black bars grow red and 
white under the pressure of the in- 
tense heat. The bars that bent and 
the bars that remained rigid stirred 
within him a mental rebellion. Why 
should men have to writhe before a 
flaming forge in order to prove the 
character of the ore that the earth 
should have produced flawless and 
ready for use? 

Martin Harvey was singing to the 
beat of the hammer. Bernard shud- 
dered at the joy in his master's voice 
and resolved to leave the sooty place 
that week. One of the boats that 
moored in the Pavington dock would 
bear him away to some distant spot 
where a more congenial field of labor 
awaited him. His mother would 
hear this decision with keen disap- 
pointment. All this was fast making 
the ring of the anvil seem like a 
death knell to her hopes of his ever 
becoming a man of the forge. 

Then, too, there was someone else. 
On a certain vine-clad porch a slender 
soft-haired girl had often promised him 
that she would wait until he was 
master of his craft. That night he 
would tell her of his decision. Nellie 
Doane would be content until he could 
prepare a home better, brighter than 
the brown and yellow cottage with the 
morning glory vines — he would build 
one finer than that some day — were his 
reckless thoughts. So he planned as 
the work of the day went on. 

"Mamsey dear, wherever did you get 
this pretty gingham?" Nellie Doane 
held the fabric at arm's length and it 



fell from its accustomed folds in rip- 
ples to the floor. 

"I bought it at Kline's. Ain't it 
grand? I'm going to make a guimpe 
dress of it for you — the lawn for the 
guimpe is here, too. Walter Clay 
waited on me. He says that guimpes 
are the latest fashion and that kind of 
gingham is all the rage in New York. 
Walter is so accommodating. He asked 
for you, Nellie, and when I invited him 
to call he just jumped at it and said 
he'd be here this evening." 

The girl crumpled the gingham in 
five nervous fingers. "But, mother, 
Bernard is coming this evening!" 

Mrs. Doane tossed her head violently 
— so violently that one of her ladder 
earrings caught in her hair. 

"Now, Nellie ! This has gone far 
enough ! If you think I will let you 
make a fool of yourself over a black- 
smith's helper, you're mistaken. The 
very idea !" The earring was freed and 
the active woman, seizing the crum- 
pled gingham, began to refold it. "The 
idea of slighting a young man that's 
so refined for a poor . . . oh, I 
don't know what to make of you !" 

There was a pathetic droop of 
Nellie's frail shoulders as she left the 
living room and climbed the narrow 
flight of stairs to the second floor, 
where the shoulders drooped some 
more and salt tears fell upon the pine- 
apple coverlet of the spare bed. 

When, a few hours later, Bernard 
Carroll raised the latch of the Doane's 
gate Mrs. Doane was on the porch. 

"Nellie ain't home. She went out 
walking with Mr. Clay !" The woman's 
mouth set hard, and she rocked the 
willow chair until the back of it struck 
the window shutter. 

As Bernard turned back to the street 
Nellie raised the sash of the upper 
story window. He caught sight of her. 

"Bernard!" she quivered, but her 
voice did not reach him. 

Bernard walked down the narrow 
street, his head well back in order to 
resist the choking in his throat. Blind- 
ly, almost numbly, he reached the gate 
and felt for the latch, then shuffled into 
the living room of his home. There, 
under the lamplight sat his mother, 

sowing a patch onto his blue flannel 

"You're home early, son !" she said, 
as he hung his coat on the door. 

"Yes ! I'm tired," he replied, and 
felt for the couch. 

"Were you hard pushed to-day?" she 
asked, sympathetically. 

"No, not very hard pushed. I ain't 
tired that way, mother. It's just my 
head that's tired." 

"Mebbe it's the malaria you're get- 
tin'. That shop of Harvey's ain't 
healthy. The air don't get in the back 
part of it at all. Won't it be fine 
when you've learned your trade and I 
can build you your own place down 
where the potato patch is now ! Then 
you can have the breezes of the river 
blowing in on you all day. Oh, I'll be 
glad of that time, Bernard, when it 
comes !" She patted the patched shirt 
and folded it, then reached for the 
stocking basket. 

Bernard's eyes were on the ceiling. 
His mother clearly counted on his 
learning the trade. Ah ! well, after all, 
what was to hinder him? No ache or 
pain or weariness caused by his labor 
could compare with what he felt that 
night. He turned his face to the wall and 
lay there, dry eyed, waiting for sleep. 

One warm day the doors of Martin 
Harvey's shop were left open. Passers- 
by gazed curiously and admiringly on 
the square shouldered, eager youth, 
who stood answering Harvey's blows 
on the red iron with his own graceful 
strokes. When the anvil work was 
done Bernard happened to look out and 
saw Walter Clay, the pale dry-goods 
clerk, standing in front of the shop, 
stroking his ragged yellow moustache 
with a thin forefinger. The rage within 
him prompted Bernard to pick up a 
rasp, but he dropped it and went on 
with his work and Clay moved slowly 
by. Bernard had often met him with 
Nellie on their Sunday walks over the 
high road. The first time he turned 
and would not pass them, but the next 
time he found it easier to bow to the 
girl. The pale blue necktie worn by 
Clay irritated Bernard. All the little 
dandyisms of the fellow seemed de- 
spicable to him. 



As he left the shop that evening 
Nellie Doane came up to him and held 
out a curious bit of shining metal. 

"Bernard, won't you please wear 
this? It's a charm. It will keep you 
safe from those wicked horses !" 

He looked down at the delicate out- 
stretched fingers that held the talis- 
man and replied coldly, measuredly. 

"Better give it to the dude in the 
dry-goods store !" 

The girl flushed and stammered : "He 
doesn't need it, Bernard! He isn't in 
danger every day." 

Bernard squared his shoulders. "Oh, 
yes he is ! The cash carrier might fall 
on him some time !" 

He walked away down a side street, 
smarting under his own unkindness. 
He was that sort. But then, why did 
Nellie act as she had? Her cut had left 
a mental scar that was slow to heal. 

"I'll show her I can stand it! She 
needn't feel sorry for me !" 

"You're losing your color, boy," 
Martin Harvey said to Bernard, who 
was lifting some heavy drills. "D'ye 
think ye ought to take a rest?" 

Bernard swung the drills into a cor- 
ner and laughed. "I guess not. I rest 
every night. That's enough for me !" 

No more was said. 

Bernard's first year was at a close, 
and the thought of the other two had 
no terror for him. He sought out extra 
work now as he had previously sought 
the nail bench on which to rest. 

That evening Bernard was returning 
from a walk over the high road, when 
at the bottom of the incline he heard 
some one call his name. He looked 
back. At his elbow stood Walter Clay, 
a smile gleaming through the ragged 
moustache. The smouldering antag- 
onism of months burst into sudden 
fury. Before he realized it his arm 
shot out and the slender figure fell for- 
ward on the ground. For an instant 
Bernard stood rigid, then his muscular 
arms reached down and raised his half- 
stunned rival to his feet. 

"Stand up! Stand up, for God's 
sake! Why did you get in my way? 
I couldn't help it!" 

"Let me sit down!" Clay answered, 

Bernard supported him to a rock and, 
taking his soft hat to the stream a few 
feet away, filled it with water and asked 
clumsily: "Will I put some of it on 
your head?" 

Without waiting for a reply he 
opened the collar and loosened the 
natty tie he had so often cursed. 

In a short time Clay i evived and said, 
quietly: "Never mind! Maybe you'll 
listen to me now!" 

"Well! Goon!" 

"The Manhattan lace works — of New 
York — are going to move up here — and 
they've got their eye on your mother's 
place. They're getting the Clark Real 
Estate people to try to buy it for 
them, just for a blind. Tell your 
mother to make the price good and 
steep because they want it bad — on ac- 
count of the water. There ain't any 
more for me to say. You're level 
headed enough to see it through. I 
don't want to figure in it, because the 
firm would find fault with me. Give me 
a lift— I feel all in !" 

Bernard took hold of him and led 
him up the road. Suddenly Clay 
stopped, and faced his late antagonist. 

"Nellie Doane didn't drop you. It 
was her ma !" he burst out abruptly. 

Bernard interrupted him sharply. 
"Stop! For God's sake! I—" But 
Clay was not to be silenced. 

"Wait!" he cried. "Let me finish! 
Nellie always thought a good deal of 
you and does now. She's told me so a 
hundred times. When this deal with 
the Manhattan Lace Works is put 
through, Mrs. Doane won't have any 
fault to find with you. There ! Now 
you know !" 

Bernard felt himself growing smaller 
every minute. He was only a bolt of 
black iron. Here was steel, fine and 
thin and ready to break — and it had 
been drawn over a dry-goods counter, 
through silk and other frail fabrics. 

When they reached the gate Ber- 
nard said : "Come in. I want you to 
tell mother!" 

He raised the latch with one hand, 
the other grasped Clay's shoulder. 
"Come," he said again, and his strong 
arm gently forced his reluctant com- 
panion into the house. 

Hunting Wild Bees in the Vermont 

Woods— I. 


IT was a warm sunny day in early 
spring. All the snow had disap- 
peared except in the shady ravines 
on the north sides of the hills. A few 
I weeks earlier I had heard the first 
glad notes of the robin and the blue- 
bird, and had waited for this day to 
hear the sound of working bees. I 
was traveling alone on a little-fre- 
quented road that led around the side 
of one of the Vermont hills — a road 
with a border of rank growing hedges 
— when I paused to listen to a sound 
of low, sweet music that seemed to 
come from a clump of near-by willows. 
he willows were in full bloom, and 
he yellow pollen-dust was shaken 
rom the catkins at the slightest touch. 
ere were a dozen or more bees bus- 
ly at work, making the sound which I 
lad waited to hear for the first time 
:his season. They were all on a single 
:luster of willows, each one accom- 
)anying its labors with music as it 
>assed busily from flower to flower in 
■earch of pollen or honey. The sound 
eases only for an instant, when the 
>ee rests on a flower, with closed 
v'mgs, to sip honey, or sometimes to 
djust the pellets of pollen on its legs. 
Sut while one rests others are in mo- 
ion, making the sound from the wil- 
dws continuous. There are few, if 
ny, whose sense of hearing is not 
jleasingly affected by the sound of 
ees at work. 

To me the sound is something more 
pan sweet music. It. is like the bay- 
I'g of hounds to the enthusiast in the 
base, for I am a bee-hunter. Hunt- 
jig wild bees has been my standard 
jxreation for many years, and I find 
i more fascinating than the use of the 

rod or gun, to which, also, in my boy- 
hood, I was much addicted ; and more 
humane, for the wild bees that I find 
are never robbed of their stores and 
the bees destroyed or left to perish, as 
was once the barbarous custom of bee- 
hunters. I have a better way, the 
result of which gave me at one time 
more than seventy-five swarms of bees, 
all of them in modern frame hives, and 
all descended from wild bees or 
brought directly from the woods. Is 
not this an entirely justifiable "benevo- 
lent assimilation/' whatever may be 
said of another. But the bees do not 
see it in that light. They defend their 
natural homes with reckless bravery, 
using the fearful weapon that Nature 
has provided them. They have the 
intelligence, however, to see when re- 
sistance is useless, and submit to the 
inevitable, probably without a sus- 
picion that they are to be furnished 
with a more fashionable house and in- 
itiated into the ways of civilized bees. 

In describing a fox hunt on one of 
the old English estates, and refer- 
ring to the sound of baying hounds, 
George Eliot says : "Strange that one 
of the sweetest sounds in nature should 
be thus associated with the pursuit and 
death of one of God's creatures." We 
can hunt the honey bees and listen to 
one of the "sweetest sounds in Nature" 
— the humming of the industrious 
workers — without the disagreeable 
thought suggested by the quotation. 
But we need not permit such thoughts 
to trouble us too much, for the conflict 
of Nature's forces is a part of Nature 
herself. The fox pursues and kills, as 
he is himself pursued and killed. 

One of the qualifications of a bee- 




hunter is the absence of avarice or any 
excessive ambition which might cause 
him to neglect the bees for the pros- 
pect of a fortune, or distinction in lit- 
erature, politics or religion. To be- 
come an expert bee-hunter does not 
require a college education or even a 
diploma to practice any of the profes- 
sions. Least of all does it require one 
to be possessed of riches in this world's 
goods. Indeed, I have known more 
than one very good bee-hunter who 
was poor — very poor, and scarcely able 
to write his name. 

The capital stock which is necessary 
to set up a bee-hunter in business, con- 
sists of the implements of the trade — 
a few small pieces of honey-comb with 
a little honey or sugar syrup, a small 
box of wood or tin, about 3x3x4 
inches, fitted to enclose another box. 
To these may be added, as a kind of 
aristocratic luxury not absolutely nec- 
essary, a stout alpine staff to help climb 
mountains, and to serve the general 
purpose of a walking stick. A re- 
moval cap should be adjusted to the 
top of the staff so that when set in the 
ground the bee box may be placed upon 
it. The catching box is divided into 
two nearly equal compartments by 
a sliding partition. The box has a 
glass bottom. The cover may be a 
piece of stiff cardboard to lay over the 
top, or it may be a thin piece of wood. 
Holding the catching box in the left 
hand and the lid in the right hand, 
the bee is gently brushed from the 
flower into the box and the cover 
closed over it with a single deft mo- 
tion of the hand. The box is then in- 
verted and the slide partly drawn, the 
bee flies up to the glass and is secured 
by closing the slide. The box is then 
ready to catch another bee. 

In this way you may catch as many 
bees as you want. When you have 
enough in the catching box, it is tele- 
scoped over the inner box containing 
the comb and honey, the slide drawn 
and the glass covered. The bees will 
then — generally in a few seconds — go 
down on the combs and begin to suck 
the honey. The outer box is then care- 
fully removed, leaving the bees free to 

fly as soon as they have loaded with 
honey. The first bee caught may be 
set to work in the box at once without 
waiting for others, which is often a 
better way. If the honey or syrup is 
not too thick, the bee will take abouf 
all it can carry in two or three min- 
utes. You would then expect to see it 
fly directly away with its new-found 
treasure, but it does not. It first makes 
you a witness of the intelligence that 
lies in its small body, or, perhaps, in 
the gray matter of its little particle of 
brain. It rises from the box, hovering 
over it and observing it fiom all sides 
intently. After it is apparently satis- 
fied that the miniature hive contains 
no other bees or no rightful owners 
to defend it, it begins to examine the 
location so as to be able to return for 
more when it has added its load to the 
stores at home. It flies away a few 
feet, and, turning, comes back, flying 
over or near the box. This is some- 
times repeated several times. Then it 
rises higher and flies in circles, gen- 
erally bearing off toward its home. 
Pausing for an instant to take a final 
observation, it suddenly strikes away 
in a direct line. 

If you have been able to keep your 
eye upon it through all these motions, 
you will know the general direction to 
its home. The phrase, "a bee-line," is 
sometimes used as a synonym for a 
perfectly straight line — the shortest 
distance between two points — but 
practically the bees are not so particu- 
lar about mathematical accuracy in 
this matter as they are in the construc- 
tion of their combs. The homeward 
bee-lines from the same station will 
frequently vary enough so that the out- 
side lines will be fifty rods apart at a 
distance of one mile. When there is 
no obstruction in the way, as a sharp, 
hill, to cause them to veer, the prin- 
cipal middle line will be found to lead 
very near to the hive or the tree which 
is the home of the hunted bees* 

Should the swarm to which the bee 
that we have just sent home belongs 
be near by, and the weather favorable, 
it may return for another load in six or 
eight minutes. Its home may be two 



Where the bee lines cross 

miles or even three miles away. In 

jthat case the bee may be gone from 

twenty minutes to half an hour. If the 

swarm is a mile away, it usually takes 

ji bee about twelve or fifteen minutes 

.0 reach home, deposit its load and 

return. After a few nights from the 

pox to the bee-tree, if the tree is not 

oo far away, the first bee brings others 

kith it. I have known the hunting 

:omb to be covered with bees, eager to 

make sure of the last drop of honey, 
in less than an hour from the time 
when the first bee was caught, but 
this happens only when the swarm is 
very near. If it is more than a mile 
from the place where you have them at 
work the increase of bees will be slow. 
In that case you should not wait, but 
move along on the line. You can take 
your bees with you. Slip the catching 
box over the inner box in which the 



bees are at work, jar it a little, and the 
bees will rise up to the glass, close the 
slide and you have them ready to 
move to a new station. I have moved 
them more than a mile and had them 
come back to the new location, but 
frequently they become alarmed at be- 
ing held so long as prisoners, and will 
not return. In following a line by 
moving the bees, it is safer to make 
three or four stands, from each of 
which they may be moved as soon as 
several bees return to the box. 

When you get near the bee-tree, if 
you keep the bees well supplied with 

hemlocks abound, you are more likely 
to find your swarm in a hemlock than 
in any other tree. I can remember hav- 
ing found about thirty hemlock bee- 
trees. Next to hemlock, the Vermont 
bees seem to prefer the sugar maple. 
I have seen almost as many wild bees 
in the sugar maple as in the hemlock. 
Beech trees are, perhaps, more plenti- 
ful than any others in the districts 
where I have hunted. They have 
often a convenient hollow which a 
colony of bees might occupy. But the 
bees seem to avoid them. I can now 
remember but eight beech bee-trees 



a nice quality of thin honey or thin 
sugar syrup, there will be a rapid in- 
crease of workers and they will work 
with increased energy, crowding upon 
the comb, each striving to get posses- 
sion of a cell vacated by a loaded bee. 
It ought to be a short job now to find 
the tree that you are hunting for. If 
a cross line is needed, you can move 
the bees on one side of the line and 
you will have it. That the swarm will 
be where the lines cross is evident and 
needs no explanation. 

If you are hunting in a locality where 

which I have seen. Within a territory 
covering not more than two or three, 
hundred square miles, I have found 
wild bees in eighteen different species 
of trees, including the hemlock, sugar 
maple, red maple, white maple, yellow 
birch, white birch, beech, poplar, 
spruce, balsam fir, white pine, yellow 
pine, buttonwood, apple, basswood or 
linden, white ash, black ash, red oak 
and elm. Except the beech, I have 
never found that they avoided making 
a home in any kind of a tree, provided 
they found a cavity in it of a size 



adapted to their wants, with an en- 
trance not too large and not too small, 
leading into the interior. 

Bees show a wonderful knowledge 
of the woods and good judgment in 
choosing a place for a home. They 
select a hollow in a tree about the size 
that the expert bee-culturist provides 
for them in the artificial hive, a space 
large enough to contain the brood- 
comb and all necessary stores 
for winter and for rearing the 
young bees that will take the 
place of the old ones in the spring, 
and not so large that the warmth of 
their bodies will not keep the interior 
of the house above the freezing point 
in the coldest winter weather. The ex- 
ceptions to this rule do not often occur, 
but, as in our affairs of state, the lead- 
ership seems to be sometimes intrusted 
to the wrong ones, and the whole com- 
munity suffers- — as when a swarm of 
bees makes its home on the under side 
of a limb or in a bush, where it cannot 
possibly survive the winter. There is 
not, however, in this climate, more than 
one swarm in a hundred that chooses 
a wild home in the forest without tak- 
ing into consideration its adaptability 
for winter quarters. I have seen only 
one full swarm of wild bees that had 
settled down in a place where sure de- 
struction from exposure to the weather 
awaited them. It was an average-sized 
swarm in the number of bees; they 
had made about a large pailful of 
comb and honey, with the comb at- 
tached to the shrubby limbs of an 
apple tree. 

Upon What Flowers to Find Bees and 
at What Time of the Day or Year 

When a new colony of bees has 
(selected and moved into a home in the 
[hollow of a forest tree, its first business 
is to put the house in order. Every par- 
ticle of dust or dirt is removed from 
[the top and sides of the apartment. It 
Is more thoroughly cleaned than we 
feould clean it with a brush and duster. 
The honey which they store in this 
place, if undisturbed, is just as clean 
lis any found in a hive. 

Honey-bees leave the hive to search 
for honey or pollen early in the spring. 
A few days generally occur, warm 
enough to allow them to venture out 
with safety, before they can find any 
flowers to reward their search. So 
eager is the bee at this time to be- 
gin the labors of the season that it will 
make a feint of gathering the fresh 
sawdust about the mills or the wood- 
pile, attempting with some success to 
load it upon its legs, as it" does the pol- 
len of the flowers. The sawdust, if 
packed in the cells of the honey comb 
like the pollen, for which the bee has 
searched in vain, would be useless as a 
substitute for pollen. It is therefore 
probable that the bee is only playing 
at work. At this time, also, it is seen 
at work on the ends of fresh cut logs 
or new chips, from which it gets a 
taste of sap to help out its bill of fare 
for the day and to economize the home 

Toward the close of the maple-sugar 
season, and before there are any 
flowers, bees are often seen feeding 
upon the sap. Crawling down on the 
inside of the bucket and sipping the 
cold sweet, they often become be- 
numbed, fall into the cold sap, and are 
drowned. But in this locality the little 
workers have never long to wait after 
they are able to fly in the Spring be- 
fore * the pollen and honey-yielding 
flowers begin to appear. I have fre- 
quently seen them entering the hive 
heavily laden with bee-bread (pollen) 
before the snow has entirely disap- 

The long pendant catkins of the alders 
appear the last days of March or in the 
early part of April, and in some sea- 
sons bear an abundant supply of pol- 
len dust. The flowers of the alder are 
among the first, if not the first, that 
the bees visit, but these flowers do not 
last many days, and there are seasons 
in which the bees get nothing from 
them because there are no days warm 
enough for gathering honey or pollen 
while they are in blossom. The black 
alder (holly), which bears the red ber- 
ries in the Fall, is also visited by the 
bees, when in blossom late in the sea- 



son, but this species is no relative of 
the early-blooming alder that grows 
so plentifully about the borders of 
ponds, streams and rivers. Following 
the river-alder, and only a few days 
later, there are two species of poplar 
trees in bloom. From both of these 
the bees gather pollen and, possibly, a 
small quantity of honey. 

About the same time the elm bears 
flowers profusely, upon which the bees 
will be found at work. They also 
work upon the arbutus or mayflower, 
which is one of the sweetest and earli- 
est of spring flowers. This grows 
mostly in the woods and the bees can 
work on it only in a very warm day, 
or when it grows in an open place in 
the sunshine. 

The first honey in sufficient quantity 
to supply the bees with enough for 
their daily use comes from the soft 
maples, of which there are at least two 
species in this locality. Sometimes the 
yield of honey from these trees al- 
lows the bees to make a little addition 
to their stores. The flowers of these 
maples, the willow, the river-alder, the 
poplar and the elm, all appear before 
the leaves. The red maple is out of 
blossom in April or the first part of 
May. From this time until the close 
of the season in the Fall, there is 
scarcely a fine day when we cannot find 
flowers with bees at work upon them. 
There are several species of willow 
which they visit, the first blossoming 
very early, and one a month later. 

All flowers do not yield nectar, but 
all staminate flowers are supposed to 
yield pollen. But the nectar in such 
flowers as yield it is not always within 
the reach of honey bees, and the pollen 
of many plants is not agreeable to 
them and they never gather it. It is 
probable, also, that the flowers of some 
plants secrete a nectar that bees do not 
like and never gather. A wise writer 
of a kind that often appears in print 
says that bees cannot now be success- 
fully cultivated because so many of 
them are killed by the poison from 
sprayed potato plants. The fact is: 
bees are never seen at work on potato 
blossoms. The beauty of the flowers 

might attract them, but they look for 
something more than beauty, being 
wiser than some men. 

While there are a large number of 
flowers that yield no nectar, at least 
for the honey-bee, there are seasons 
when the best honey plants yield no 
honey or so little that the bees seldom 
visit them. I have known the ground 
to be white with the bloom of clover, 
and no bees to be found at work upon 
it, yet in most localities in the North 
white clover is considered the prin- 
cipal honey-yielding plant. It is only 
in a few exceptional years that it is 
not. All honey-producing plants have 
seasons of failure. It is not enough 
that the plant should be in full bloom; 
in needs the right kind of weather to 
secrete honey just as it needs the right 
kind of weather for the flow of sap from 
the sugar maple. The flowers of some 
kinds of plants may yield honey late in 
the day when there is none in the 
morning. More frequently there is a 
yield of honey in the forenoon and less 
or none late in the afternoon. Upon 
other plants the bees will keep steadily 
at work from morning till night. 

A knowledge of the plants from 
which the bees gather their stores, the 
time of the year when such plants are 
in bloom, and the time of day when the 
bees will be most likely to visit them, 
is a valuable part of the bee-hunter's 
lore. The common names of most of 
the plants in this locality from which 
the bees collect either honey or pollen, 
not including those before mentioned, 
are given below. I have used the gen- 
eric or specific name of the botanies 
in a few cases, in which the name is in 
common use, or in which there is no 
well-known common name. The plants 
are named in the order of their season, 
beginning the latter part of April and 
continuing until October: Saxifrage, 
hepatica, erythronium, currant, goose- 
berry, bush-honeysuckle, sugar-maple, 
apple and other fruit trees, dandelion, 
strawberry, raspberry — several species, 
blackberry, radish, cabbage, white 
clover, basswood, gill-over-the-ground, 
sweet elder, grape, snowdrop, several 
species of the poppy family, locust — 



Swarm of bees in an oi,d sap bucket 

two kinds, blueberry and several other 
related plants, beans, peas, Indian 
hemp, dogsbane, loosestrife, balm and 
many species of the mint family, bitter- 
sweet, sumac, goose-grass, life-everlast- 
ing, woodbine, St. Johnswort,hardhack, 
sage, corn, pumpkin, cucumber, squash, 
melon, sorrel, touch-me-not, vervain, 
Nabulus altissimus, silkweed, fireweed, 
knotweed, ragweed, wild sunflower, 

sunflower, mullein, self-heal, boneset, 
red Eupatorium, clematis, shrubby cin- 
quefoil, goldenrod, aster, plantain, 
thistle, buckwheat, mustard, hearts- 
ease, button pennyroyal, hollyhock and 

I have seen honey-bees at work on 
all the plants which I have named with- 
in an area of about fifteen towns in 
Windham County, Vermont. Without 



■■,■-■'■ .;•::■■■ 

Swarm gathered in cluster ready to form a -new colony 

many essential variations this alma- 
nac will answer for New England, New 
York and other northern territory. The 
red raspberry is here one of the best 
honey-yielding plants. The blossoms 
begin to appear before the end of May 
and continue until the fruit begins to 
ripen in July. When the raspberry 
bloom is in its prime the bees are busy 
gathering the nectar from morning till 

The best part of the white-clover sea- 
son is in June, though in a favorable 
locality in a good season, a few white- 
clover plants can generally be found in 
blossom until late in the Fall. White 
clover yields the most honey when it is 
dry. The bees will therefore be found 
upon white clover most plentifully 
after the dew has completely evapor- 

ated, but when the weather is warm 
and dry they sometimes visit it early 
in the morning. Next to white clover 
the linden or basswood tree is gener- 
ally the most productive source of 
honey. It blossoms about the middle 
of June in warm situations and con- 
tinues in bloom in high altitudes until 
the middle of July. It is in full bloom 
only once in two years, but there are 
a few odd trees that can be found in 
full bloom any year, and a few blos- 
soms may be found on some trees that 
bore full the previous year. When 
everything is favorable for the yield of 
basswood honey, hundreds of bees may 
sometimes be found at work on a 
single tree, making a humming that 
can be distinctly heard by any one 
passing near. Coming under a bass- 



wood tree at such a time, the uniniti- 
ated frequently thinks he has found a 
wild swarm of bees, and puts his mark 
on the tree. I have seen several bass- 
wood trees so marked. 

Bees may be found at work in the 
cornfields in July and August. They 
work here only in the forenoon or when 
there is a humid atmosphere. The corn 
tassels yield an abundance of pollen, 
but the bees cannot gather it and pack 
it in the little baskets on their hind 
legs unless it is moist. There are only 
three or four hours of an ordinary 
day when they frequent cornfields. 
Buckwheat is another cultivated plant 
yielding both honey and pollen, neither 
of which the bees can gather when the 
plant is dry. Great numbers of bees 
visit the buckwheat fields from eight 
o'clock in . the morning until a little 
past noon. No honey bees will be 
found on a buckwheat field much after 
noon on a fair day, but sometimes they 
may be found there in the afternoon 
when the forenoon has been rainy and 
the afternoon is clear. 

St. Johnswort is a wild plant which 
bees frequent in a dull or cloudy day, 
or early in the morning before the dew 
is off. The common Canada thistle, 
when, as sometimes happens, it yields 
honey, is visited by the bees at all times 
of the day. Though formerly quite 
plentiful, this plant is now fortunately 
almost extinct in this country. We 
have a species of spirea or hardhack, a 
shrub two or three feet high bearing 
beautiful small red or white flowers in 
numerous, slender, tapering panicles on 
the ends of the upright branches. It fs 
in blossom in July, August and Sep- 
tember. Bees may generally be found 
at work upon it through the day, but 
in some seasons they hardly yisit it at 
all. It is very common in old pastures 
and waste lands. Meadow-sweet is 
another species of spirea, having white 
or slightly pink flowers which the bees 
also frequent. 

The staghorn sumac blossoms in 
June, and another kind of sumac in 
August; both kinds are much fre- 
quented by bees. In some parts of 
Vermont immense quantities of shrub- 

by cinquefoil have lately overspread 
old neglected pastures, taking com- 
plete possession of the soil. It bears a 
yellow flower about half an inch in 
diameter, appearing on some of the 
earlier plants in June, and may be 
found until late in Autumn. Bees may, 
at times, be seen upon the flowers quite 
plentifully, which is the only thing that 
can be said in defence of this intruding 

Of all plants from which bees gather 
either honey or pollen the goldenrod 
is the most practically useful to the 
bee-hunter. The earlier species begin 
to blossom the last days of July, and 
from that time until late in September 
it is not difficult to find some kind of 
goldenrod in blossom. About thirteen 
different species have been identified 
within a small area in this locality — 
one with white flowers. I think that 
bees find something to gather from all 
these kinds. I have seen bees at work 
upon nearly all of them. The white 
goldenrod is one of their especial 
favorites. In general, they will be 
found most plentifully upon the late 
kinds, as the rough-leaved goldenrod 
(Solidago rugosa) or the blue stemmed 
goldenrod (S. caesia and S. latifolia). 
The goldenrods are widely distributed 
and can be found in their season almost 
everywhere, growing by the roadside, 
on the borders of fields, in old pas- 
tures, in swamps and in the open 
woods. When the weather is not too 
cool the bees work upon the golden- 
rod from morning until late in the 
afternoon. I have started more wild 
swarms from bees caught from the 
goldenrod than from any other plant. 
Besides, I have had thrown in with the 
hunt beautiful golden views in the 
landscape. No dishonest gold was this. 

After the goldenrod come several 
species of wild asters, upon which bees 
may be found in warm, pleasant days 
late in autumn. The large blue aster, 
which grows in swamps or in wet 
places, is one of the most common and 
one that remains in blossom latest. It 
is the last of the season except one — 
the witch hazel, which puts forth its 
blossoms in October, after the leaves 



have fallen. In very warm, days, a few 
bees may sometimes be seen on the 
flowers of the witch hazel, but, with 
the failure of the asters, their field 
labors are subsequently closed for the 
season, and they have nothing left but 
to go into winter quarters: 

Nathan was my bee-hunting com- 
panion. Not my only one, for I have 
had many others, including some near 
the natural condition of man, some 
highly cultivated students, professors, 
clergymen and successful business 
men; but Nathan was the bee-hunting 
partner of my youth when we were 
both students of the art, and I remem- 
ber him as the one of a score or more 
of co-hunters who was most apt to 
learn the ways of wild bees, and who 
had the most enthusiastic appreciation 
of bee-hunting. 

On one occasion, occurring the last 
week in July, when we were in the 
midst of the haying season, there was 
a slight sprinkle of rain in the morn- 
ing, and it had been decided not to 
mow more grass that day. Though 
the honey-bee does not work in the 
rain, Nathan and I were so eager for 
a hunt that we started out with our 
bee boxes for a place near the foot of 
a mountain about four miles away 
where we knew there was a small field 
of buckwheat in full bloom. On the 
Sunday previous we were picking blue- 
berries and passed by this field. Itwould 
have been considered very wicked to 
hunt bees Sunday, but it was quite 
respectable to pick berries on that day. 
By what process of reasoning the dif- 
ference between the two was estab- 
lished we never stopped to inquire, but 
took our little part of the great world 
as we found it, except that sometimes 
we indulged in private opinions which 
we were too prudent to make public. 

We were, therefore, picking blue- 
berries on the Sunday before, when we 
found the field of buckwheat without 
turning out of our way. It was densely 
covered with fresh flowers. The morn- 
ing sun was fast dissipating the dew 
from the mass of white blossoms, and 
the air was filled with fragrance that 
was plainly perceptible at a consider- 

able distance. I knew that if there 
were any bees having their home within 
one or two miles of this field they 
would be represented here at this time, 
and I tarried a few minutes to take 
observations. My eye caught a heav- 
ily laden bee high up in the air flying 
slowly from the field in a straight line 
towards the woods. After a little ex- 
perience in lining bees one can gen- 
erally tell whether a bee is flying direct- 
ly home to deposit its load or whether 
it is flying in a contrary direction with- 
out a load. If the bee is heavily laden 
with pollen and honey — they always 
collect both at the same time when the 
flowers yield both — the flight is slow, 
labored and direct. When the bee 
reaches the hive or the hollow in the 
tree, which serves equally well its pur- 
poses, both the pollen and honey are 
quickly deposited, and it returns for 
another load with a lighter, swifter 
and more irregular flight. It has spent 
not more than five minutes in the hive. 
In some cases, when the flowers are 
yielding abundant stores, the bee re- 
mains in the hive only two or three 
minutes. It seems to understand the 
need of the utmost economy of time, 
for the yield may last but a few hours. 
Bees can gather honey from buck- 
wheat only when the flowers are moist. 
In a pleasant day the honey in the 
buckwheat flowers becomes too thick 
to be sucked up into the gathering-sac 
of the bee before two o'clock in the 
afternoon. There may be more than 
fifty thousand bees at work on an 
acre of buckwheat half an hour before 
noon. At two o'clock in the afternoon 
it might be impossible to find a single 
bee on the field. 

There were no houses in the direction 
that my loaded bee had taken. He 
might have continued in that line for 
more than ten miles without passing 
a dwelling. It was the starting of a 
wild swarm. Somewhere in the forest 
— it might have been a half or even 
nearer, or it might have been three 
miles — was the home. The slow, 
steady, direct flight, which I had fol- 
lowed as long as it could be held in 
view, revealed to a practical certainty 



the fact that there was a wild swarm 
of bees somewhere in the direction 
taken. But we took no bee boxes with 
us on that day — only our pails for pick- 
ing blueberries. These were filled and 
we returned to our homes. 

It was only the next Monday, when 
the poor hay day, to which I have re- 
ferred, gave us our opportunity, and we 
started out with our bee-hunting boxes 
for the place where I had lined the bee. 
When we had traveled about half way 
to the field there was a shower of rain 
sufficient to stop bees from working. 
But we were too eager to be turned 
back. When we reached the buck- 
wheat field not a single bee could be 
found upon it. Though it was not 
then raining, the flowers were wet 
enough to drabble the bodies of the 
bees and they all remained in their 
home; at least, all that could reach 
it before being overtaken by the 

But Nathan had great knowledge 
of the ways of the honey bee. He 
was keen for the hunt and full of re- 
sources. Part of the plowed field had 

been planted to corn. At that time 
every corn patch had also its pumpkins. 
In this case the pumpkin vines grew 
rampant underneath the corn. Their 
large flowers had been opened in the 
morning, as is their habit, but the rain 
had closed them. Nathan began at 
once to open them and look for bees 
that might have been caught and im- 
prisoned when the rain closed the long 
tubular corrollas at the top. His 
search was successful, and we soon had 
two bees at work in our boxes. They 
were somewhat benumbed and stupefied 
at first from their imprisonment and the 
coolness that followed the shower. 
They soon revived, however, and par- 
took freely of the sweets which we 
offered them. After filling its honey- 
sac to its full capacity, one of them 
rose slowly, flying over and around 
the box, and then in widening circles, 
and examined closely both the box and 
the locality. Having completed its ob- 
servation, it struck off in the same 
direction that the laden bee lined from 
the buckwheat flowers on the day be- 
fore had taken. 

Method of securing a young swarm erom their hemlock tree home 

An Honest Politician 


JOHN HAMMOND dropped weari- 
ly into a park settee and took off 
his hat. He had been done; done 
to a rich, brown crisp and he was 
still sizzling as he took his isolated seat 
beneath the stars. Done by a group of 
pudgy-faced politicians, who gained 
their daily bread by graft and greed ; by 
a wolfish pack of gangsters in sheep's 
clothing who, thus disguised, had posed 
as his friends. This, too, after he had 
been of them, sworn by them, fought 
for them during eight long years, think- 
ing them honest; because he had blind- 
ly believed in that parasital paradox: 
"an honest politician." 

With the young attorney, honesty in 
all things was an inherent trait. His 
early schooling had been in a little New 
England town where his father had 
been one of the selectmen and where 
the body politic worked for the public 
good alone. Cherishing the chimerical 
delusion that politics everywhere might 
be made as clean as in Barnstable, he 
went through college and law school 
nursing the hope that some day he 
would enter the civil lists and shatter 
a lance against the forces of un- 
righteousness. He was graduated 
into the world's wide university with 
a succinct knowledge of law, a pliant 
tongue and a firm handshake, and so 
when he went to the People's party 
he was admitted to the outer circle 
and given a chance at speech making 
and vote getting. In order that he 
might preach the alleged "principles" 
of his party he was kept ignorant of its 
true intents, with the result that before 
long his sincerity compelled thoughtful 
consideration among some others as 
ignorant as himself. Vitally interested 
in the course he was pursuing, he 
worked blindly and tirelessly until as 
his eighth year in the ranks drew to a 

close he was in line to become not only 
a successful lawyer, but also an honest 

The campaign of 19 — proposed the 
installation of a ten million dollar 
sewerage system and the question up- 
permost in the minds of citizens was 
whether the money should be turned 
over, as a cash prize to the Inde- 
pendent party, or whether the People's 
party should receive it to dispose of 
"honestly" — a question comparatively 
easy of solution to the uninitiated, but 
equally difficult to those acquainted 
with the devious bypaths of political 

The slate for the People's party had 
been made out complete save for the 
office of commissioner of streets, one 
of the most important offices on the 
slate, as its holder would be forced to 
condemn much property. To do this 
meant endless litigation unless the of- 
fice was skilfully managed. If it was 
skilfully managed according to the 
political construction of the term, it 
meant an endless source of revenue to 
ringsters in the acceptance of bribes 
for not condemning property that 
otherwise would be condemned. An 
honest man in the position might save 
the city thousands of dollars ; one who 
placed profit before honesty might, with 
the protection of the mayor, pocket 
thousands of dollars for himself and the 
other vultures who prey on the car- 
rion they make of public institutions. 

Some months before the election, 
Lynch, the chairman of the People's 
party, summoned Hammond to his of- 
fice. He shook hands effusively with 
him, pushed over a box of cigars, com- 
plimented him on the work he was do- 
ing for his party, and then came at 
once to business. 

"We've got to name the nominee for 



commissioner of streets to-morrow," he 
began in a somewhat embarrassed man- 
ner, "and we promised you the job. If 
electioneering was the whole thing 
you'd get the place without a kick, but 
Hammond, there's more than that to 
be considered. There's a big pool at 
stake in the coming election and we — 
they — that is, the party has been work- 
ing quietly for more than six years to 
form a circle around that pool. We've 
got a mayor who's onto his job and 
we've got to have a commissioner who 
can play in with him. See what I 
mean? So the majority has decided to 
put Ryan in as commissioner and — " 

"Not if — " broke in Hammond, 
bristling as he rose. 

"Wait a minute now," crooned the 
other softly. "We'll put Ryan in as 
commissioner and give you twenty- 
five thousand dollars to go on work- 
ing and make a noise like a clam, when 
it comes to talking about the inner 
circle. That's fair, ain't it?" 

For a full minute Hammond stood 
before the other in unbelieving aston- 
ishment. Twice he tried to speak and 
twice the words withered on the tip 
of his palsied tongue. Then stepping 
over to the chairman's desk, he spoke 
a little lower than his natural tone. 

"Lynch," he said, eyeing the other 
keenly, "twenty-five thousand dollars 
is a big sum of money. It is more 
than I ever had in my life, but it's 
too small a price to buy this office 
"rom me." 

'Well, call it fifty," returned the 
jother, trying to assume an easy air. 

"No, nor a hundred and fifty. You'll 
late me for commissioner of streets or 
I'll show you and the others up like a 
floating mine under a searchlight." 

"Oh ! no, you won't," said the chair- 
man, conciliatingly. "You'll take the 
jnoney," and, rising, he patted the law- 
yer on the shoulder. 

Hammond brushed away the hand as 
(hough it had been a scorpion. 
| "You'll give me the position or I'll 
how you up," was the uncompromis- 
ing reply. 

"Come now, don't be a fool," said 
.ynch, shortly. "You'll be in line for 

something better than commissioner 
later on, but just now — " 

"Just now I'm needed in the posi- 
tion of commissioner more than I'll 
need the position of governor later on. 
I want the place." 

"Well, you can't have the place I" and 
the thick neck of the other swelled 
like a glutted leech. 

"Then I'll hold you up before the 
public gaze for the bunch of boodling 
vampires that you are." 

"You blab and you don't get a damn 
cent! We've got the "World" and 
"Leader" with us and the rest of 'em '11 
say you're a sorehead because we 
won't give you what you want. Now 
take the money and stay with us. Be- 
fore long we'll boost you into some- 
thing good. This city is the seat of the 
state government — " 

"With most of its brains in its seat," 
exploded the attorney. "No, I'll stay 
square to the finish." 

"Well, I see your finish coming," 
sneered Lynch as the door banged. 

A summer zephyr that was filtered 
through the flower beds of the park, 
sent its refreshing breath through the 
moist hair of Hammond in his seat on 
the park bench. It played about his 
open throat and caressed his throbbing 
temples until at last, as his heated brain 
cooled, a determined resolution crystal- 
lized itself therein. Then lighting his 
half -consumed cigar he strolled slowly 
to his rooms, the disappointments of to- 
day behind him, the prospects of a 
new to-morrow ahead. 

The next morning four men sat in 
the office of Jim Francis, cooling their 
heels and waiting. The Boss, who sat 
behind his desk a few yards away, was 
one of the most unique figures in city 
politics. He was a boss in the most 
generous interpretation of the expres- 
sion; an autocrat who ruled with a 
hand that broke wherever it could not 
bend, yet to those who were loyal to 
him he dealt favors lavishly with that 
same hand. A self-acknowledged 
spoilsman, he took all that was yielded 
in the political dragnet, and those who 



formed the army of his adherents 
shared the glory and the infamy of his 
name. With him nothing was too 
sacred to sacrifice, yet all that he did 
was done shamelessly and openly. Of 
this last trait his office was typical. 
There was no inner sanctum and any 
who desired to see him and talk with 
him must do so before any who might 
be present, a fact which often made the 
first desire to be last and gave the last 
an unwilling opportunity to be first. 

On this particular morning the first 
to be called was a square shouldered, 
well-groomed man whose features were 
marred by a pair of shifting eyes and a 
weak mouth. When the office boy 
called his name he was nervously prod- 
ding the carpet with the point of his 
cane and he started suddenly on hear- 
ing himself spoken to. As he stepped 
toward the desk at the other side of the 
room, the man before it raised his hand 
and pressed a button. Instantly a big 
negro appeared and as he reached the 
side of the visitor the Boss looked up 
and with his eye on the latter he spoke 
deliberately to the negro. 

"Roger," he said, "this is Mr. Flet- 
cher, of the eleventh ward, who sells his 
friends at the highest figure. He has 
come to talk with me but as I haven't 
time to hear his talk I want you to take 
him out there and tell him what I 
think of him. Then, if he lets you 
live after that, show him through the 
back entrance where we send out all 
of our rubbish." 

Fletcher went white to his hair. 

"Francis, you can't — " 

"Roger will talk with you," returned 
the Boss, waving his hand toward the 
door. "Tell Mr. Sheehan I'll see him," 
he said to the boy, and the first, his 
features furrowed with a black look of 
hate, followed Roger through the door. 

Sheehan was a slick politician lawyer 
who, when there was any money in it, 
did anything for anybody and then 
generally hid his doings under the 
name of somebody else. He was quick 
of tongue and motion and as he stepped 
sprucely over to the big desk he 
stretched out his hand with an oily 
word of greeting. 

The Boss sat back in his chair, ignor- 
ing the extended hand. 

"Did you do the job?" he asked, 

"I've landed all of 'em," returned the 
other, laying a paper on the desk. 

Francis looked over the paper care- 
fully and, satisfied with its contents, 
reached for his checkbook. 

"Er — Mr. Francis, do you mind mak- 
ing the payment in cash?" asked the 
lawyer, with a smooth smile. 

"Don't want the bank people to know 
that you and the old man are friends, 
eh?" flashed Francis. 

"Well, ah — the other's a bit safer, you 

"Yes, I know," dryly came the an- 
swer. "You're willing to do my work, 
aren't you?" 

"Certainly, certainly, but — " 

"Then you'll take my paper," and he 
handed over the check. "Tell Garland 
he's next," turning to the boy. 

"Hello, Garland," he said, as the 
other man came before him. "You 
look a little yellow this morning. Over- 
taxing your liver?" 

"No, it ain't my liver," returned Gar- 
land, laughing feebly. "Guess it's my 
heart. Lynch has offered me a good 
chunk of the People's graft if I — " 

"Going to flop, eh?" 

"That's about it, Boss." 

"Think you can do better by your- 
self than the old man's done by you?" 

"Not that you ain't treated me white, 
but it looks good the other way. You 

"Certainly I see, my boy. It's the 
naked knife between us after this. If 
you think you can do better on the 
other side, try it, and if I can do you 
while you're trying, I'll do it. If there's 
anything left of you after the polls 
close, come 'round and see me. You're 

"Thanks, Boss," and shaking the 
outstretched hand, Garland went 

"I'm ready for Mr. — " Francis took 
another glance at the card in his hand 
and turned around to look : "for Mr. 
Hammond," he finished, slowly. 

"How are yon, Mr. Hammond?" he 



said, nodding shortly. "What are you 
doing in the enemy's camp?" 

"I'm considering a change of faith," 
said the other flatly, "and I want to 
know what prospect there is for a new 
recruit in the Independent ranks." 

For a full minute the older politician 
scrutinized him sharply. 

"Steam roller?" he asked, at length. 

"Yes and no," returned Hammond. 
"I wanted and was slated for the posi- 
tion of commissioner of streets. I was 
too honest for that, so they changed the 
slate and offered me that very excellent 
but unsatisfactory mediator between 
grafter and the honest man — cold cash. 
But that isn't my end in politics. I 
wanted enough political power to show 
that I'm square. It seems I can't have 
that. Then I want to do the next best 
thing and join a crowd that whatever 
its methods, and whatever its ends, al- 
ways does what it says. For a chance 
to succeed in politics, for a chance to 
get into power, I am willing to sign 
body and soul into your possession; 
willing to take up your standard and 
follow your dictates; willing to lay 
aside principles and self-respect. Then 
when you agree that I have acquitted 
myself of my obligations toward you — 
if it isn't too late — I want to turn 
square and reclaim what I have bar- 

Francis watched the pallor over- 
spread the face of the man before him 
and listened to the tremor in his voice 
with a calloused fascination. He knew 
the man, his record and his value as an 

"Rather a risky trade both ways, isn't 
it?" smiled Francis. "Do you know 
what the full cost will be if I take you 

"Exactly what I offer for sale; body 
and soul, self respect, friends, princi- 
ples, honor — all these go into the scale. 
But if they will buy me what I want 
more than anything else in life; what 
I have fought for fairly and squarely — 
a chance in politics — the bargain is 

"Suppose I don't take you up." 

The other's jaw set hard. 

'Suppose, too, without taking 


up, I give the story of this visit to the 

"Naturally I'd deny it by calling you 
a white-livered, black-hearted liar, and 
the other gentle epithets exchanged by 
warring politicians, but — " and his 
voice grew deeply serious, "Francis, 
you're going to take me up. In a close 
election like this I'm too good a politi- 
cal asset for you to put aside. The 
others don't know my full power, but 
you do. If I bolt and go into the third, 
fourth and fifth wards and tell them 
why I bolted, I'll swing those wards 
whichever way I go. They believed in 
the cause for which I was fighting be- 
cause I believed in it myself, and if I 
take this story to them and tell them of 
the graft and rottenness in the People's 
party, they'll believe and go with me. 
If I swing in with the Reform Party 
there is a hope, but I don't want to 
risk on a hope when I can win on a 

"Hammond, you're even more of a 
politician than I thought you were," 
said the Boss, smiling. "If I take you 
in tow, what concessions do you want 
to offer your people?" 

"Only a fair tax rate. The men in 
those three wards, mostly working men, 
own their own homes. It would be ruin- 
ous to foist a high tax rate on them as 
the Lynch people are going to do in 
order to further their own selfish ends. 
Then, too, low taxes is the most potent 
shibboleth we can raise in these wards 
and if I raise it they'll believe me." 

"Well, so much for the people. Now 
what do you want?" 

"Commissioner of streets." 

"Too much, entirely too much." 

"Well, what do you offer?" 

"You won't take money? Say 
seventy-five thousand, cash?" 

"No, I don't belong to the tip taking 
class. If you've got a candidacy to 
offer me, all right; if not — " 

"Suppose I offer you the tax assessor- 

"I'll take it!" 

"Even though your hands are some- 
what bound by commissioners who are 
in the organization?" 




"When will you make the avowal of 
your change of heart?" 

"To-night, at the People's mass meet- 
ing in the Criterion theatre." 

A glimmer of admiration sparkled in 
the old man's eye as he reached for 
the button beside his desk, but the 
glimmer softened to something closely 
akin to affection as a door opened near- 
by and the slender figure of a young 
girl stepped out. As she approached 
Hammond stared and started as though 
the wraith of his departed honor had 
danced before his vision, and as he con- 
tinued to gaze, an irrepressible admira- 
tion that was suddenly stirred in him 
seemed to melt almost into affection. 
There was nothing about her that was 
suggestive of association with the type 
of men who daily frequented this of- 
fice ; rather she was quite the antithesis 
of these, suggesting character, refine- 
ment, education and the essence of pure 
womanhood. She was not overpower- 
ingly beautiful but from out of the fine 
meshed frame of wavy chestnut hair 
there appeared a face of which the win- 
someness combined well with the 
witchery of her figure. A glance at 
her was a revelation; a long look en- 
gendered danger to the heart of the 
chaste beholder and Hammond was 
still staring hard when she stepped over 
to the desk. 

"Miss Marion," said the Boss in a 
tone that caused Hammond to glare at 
him. "I want you to drop a line to the 
leaders and tell them to meet me here 
to-night at eleven o'clock. That's all. 
Oh ! I want to present to you Mr. Ham- 
mond, formerly of the People's party. 
He's coming with us. This young 
lady, Hammond, is the only stenog- 
rapher in the state who can take a 
message and forget it as soon as she 
has despatched it." 

Like a caress, Hammond's glance 
rested on the dark tresses as she slight- 
ly inclined her head in acknowledge- 
ment of the introduction and when, a 
half an hour later, the bargain made, 
he left his soul in the possession of the 
politician, his heart was every whit as 
much in the possession of the private 
stenographer. As he walked up the 

street his truant thoughts dwelt not so 
much on the great sacrifice he had made 
to enter the political arena as on an 
eloquent pair of slate grey eyes which 
seemed to have awakened a longing 
greater even than his ambitions. 

That night a mass meeting of the 
People's party had been advertised for 
one of the theatres of the fourth ward 
and, as Hammond was scheduled to 
speak, the audience was composed 
mainly of his adherents from the third, 
fourth and fifth wards. The news of 
his break with the party was known 
only to a few of the heads who, hoping 
that they might keep the attorney's 
support, had thought best to keep the 
matter quiet until he took steps 
against them. Oysting was the only 
one of these who was present and a 
smile of satisfaction passed over his 
features when he saw Hammond take 
his place on the platform. Oysting and 
several of the others had spoken when 
Hammond's name was mentioned, and 
the applause that greeted him as he 
came to the front of the stage plainly 
displayed the feelings of his audience 
towards him. He was their favorite. 
Understanding them, he always said 
things that they understood; when he 
promised better pavements in Aisquith 
street, the people got better pavements ; 
when he said that electric lights would 
be placed at the corner of the alleys, 
they were put there. He never prom- 
ised great things, but when he said his 
party would do a thing he saw that it 
was done and, more than that, he min- 
gled with his constituents at their so- 
cials and picnics after election as well 
as before. 

He bowed smilingly in acknowledge- 
ment of their applause and when he be- 
gan to speak the men stopped smok- 
ing to listen. They laughed at his 
opening story; they cheered his per- 
sonal sallies at some of their prominent 
men; they yelled wildly when he skil- 
fully praised their desire for the best 
government and their loyalty to their 
candidates, and they leaned over the 
seats in front to listen when he bent 
over the speaker's table and impres- 
sively raised his long forefinger. 

(Drawing by William Kirkpatrick 

"Good night, Boss," she was saying, as she pinched his cheek 



"My friends," he said in a clear, 
strong voice, "I was scheduled to make 
a speech before you to-night, a speech 
praising the virtues of the People's 
party, a party in which you and I have 
had unquestioned and unbroken faith 
for over eight years. But since that an- 
nouncement was made something has 
occurred which has caused me to 
change my mind. Instead of making 
a speech I am going to make a con- 
fession. " 

Hardly were the words out of his 
mouth when Oysting sprang towards 
him with a bound, but the sudden 
shuffle of feet and an angry snarl from 
the gathering warned him back to his 
place, white and trembling. Then with 
the mighty mallet of his rhetoric, Ham- 
mond shattered the structure which he 
had been eight long years in building. 
He showed the leaders of the People's 
party in exactly the position of a 
"floating mine under a searchlight." 
He exposed their methods, flayed their 
practices, clearly pointed out the care- 
ful plan they had laid to surround the 
vast sum of money to be expended; 
then after he had made plain his rea- 
sons for joining the Independents he 
openly challenged, in the courts, one 
or all of the People's party to prove 
his charges false. 

Every paper in the city printed his 
remarkable confession on the following 
day. Even over their violent vitupera- 
tions, the "World" and the "Record" 
quoted the words of the young law- 
yer. The general effect of this was not 
only a benefit to the Independent party 
in the third, fourth and fifth wards, but 
from doubtfuls over the entire city, 
His bold and unanswered challenge 
made inroads against the ranks of the 
opposing party and while as yet the 
election results were doubtful, the bet- 
ting odds were slightly in favor of the 

His break from the People's party 
had brought down upon him a deluge 
of work for which his previous prepara- 
tion had trained his stroke, and fear- 
lessly breasting the current he kept his 
head high above the flood of hard work 
and hostile censure. He was fortu- 

nate in having few detractions to viti- 
ate his efforts and that thief of time, 
greater even than Procrastination — a 
Girl — had not yet been added to his 
lists of encumbrances, diversions or 
necessities. Thus it was that the in- 
genuous intimacy which sprang up be- 
tween himself and the private stenog- 
rapher of the boss politician was 
a great boon to him now that 
some of the men who had been nearest 
to him had deserted him because of his 
questionable affiliations. During the 
hours of pressure when the work in 
hand was of a private nature, the Boss 
"lent" him his stenographer and as the 
termination of the campaign ap- 
proached, these hours became more 
frequent and more dear to the pros- 
pective assessor of taxes. 

The Boss exercised a jealous care 
over Miss Marion and kept most of 
his low-browed followers from her. 
Hammond he trusted, knowing that 
his weakness was political power, not 
women. So, a warm uninterrupted 
companionship grew up between them. 
Often during busy hours they lunched 
together in the cosy office of the 
maiden and as he watched her brew 
the coffee or manipulate the dainty 
chafing dish on her desk, his thoughts 
of politics vanished away into the 
shadow of a shade. Several evenings 
when the Boss was attending to busi- 
ness in the suburbs the pair had dinner 
together beneath a secluded arbor up 
the river, and one glorious, moonlit 
night she stole away with him for a 
canoe ride on a narrow stream that 
emptied into the river. They were 
floating beneath an arch of willows 
which overhung the bank when a trail- 
ing vine lightly kissed her cheek. Mut- 
tering something about a snag ahead. 
Hammond swung the canoe around and 
snatching the tip of the vine and kept 
it for himself lest some other canoeist 
might steal the kiss. 

That he knew nothing about her 
family made no difference to him. He 
didn't care who or what they were so 
long as she remained as she was. Once 
in one of their little outings he had 
spoken of his home and the conversa- 



tion had occasioned some reference to 
her mother by him. "My mother died 
when I was a very little girl," she 
told him simply, and that was the only 
time the subject was ever mentioned 
between them. She refreshed him 
mentally and made up for the loss of 
his intimates ; more than that he did 
not desire. Their friendship was al- 
ways pleasantly informal. In address- 
ing him she laughingly called him "Mr. 
Assessor," and in turn he named her his 
"Goddess of the Machine," for short, 

Thus they grew together, neither 
trying to analyze the feelings which ex- 
isted beneath the surface of friendship, 
each glad when enjoying the compan- 
ionship of the other. 

Late one evening in the Fall, Ham- 
mond leaped up the imposing marble 
steps of the Francis mansion, pressed 
the button, and finding the door slight- 
ly ajar strode in without waiting for 
the butler. He went up the thickly 
carpeted staircase three steps at a time 
and was on his way back to the spaci- 
ous study at the rear of the second 
floor when, on glancing into the room 
beyond, he saw a sight that made him 
stagger. There, at that hour, in a 
flowing dressing gown was Miss Mar- 
ion, her upturned face between the 
hands of the politician who kissed her 
as she stood there. A horrible, revolt- 
ing^ suspicion tore its way through the 
brain of Hammond like a dumdum 
bullet, and an impulse came over him 
to rush in and kill the man. He knew 
Francis to be all that was unscrupulous 
in politics, but this — somehow in his 
lowest estimate of him he had never 
accused him of this. 

"Good-night, Boss," she was saying 
as she pinched his cheek. 

"Good-night, Maid Marion," smiled 
the man, and then dully realizing that 
the relations of each was the same to 
the other, Hammond stole unsteadily 
down the staircase. 

His ring had not awakened the but- 
ler and he stood irresolutely on the 
front steps thoughtfully pondering the 

scene which he had witnessed. He 
could not reconcile his thoughts to 
what he had just seen. It seemed im- 
possible in this man he had come to 
know so well and in this girl he had 
come to — to like so well. Thoughts of 
the past few months flew through his 
mind like faces in a car window; his 
first meeting with the girl, their fre- 
quent association, her continual alert- 
ness, her knowledge, her womanliness, 
her — innocence. He squared his 
shoulders with a sharp jerk. His ambi- 
tions were to succeed in politics, not 
to act as an amusement for strange 
women, and he gave the bell a long, 
loud ring. A few minutes later, after 
his card had preceded him, he was 
ushered into the study of the politician. 
"You're up late, Hammond," said the 
latter, as he looked questioningly across 
his desk. 

"Yes," returned the attorney, "I've 
got something on my mind that isn't 
exactly conducive to sound sleep. 
Talbot and O'Gorman are going to 

The Boss's eyelids narrowed as he 
leaned forward and looked piercingly 
at the younger man 

"Talbot and O'Gorman?" he queried, 

"Talbot and O'Gorman and your son, 

"My son, Hen— You lie !" 

Hammond bent over the desk until 

his face was within a foot of the other's. 

"Francis, I'll throw you through that 

window if you don't take that back," he 


"All right, I take it back. Now 
prove to me that you don't." 

"The three came to me an hour ago 
and offered me the commissionership if 
I'd go with them. From what they 
say, the Reforms will go with them. 
If Henry breaks and decries you with 
the others it will give them strength. 
He is bitter about that license board 
place you refused him, and the others 
have convinced him that your reign 
will come to an abrupt finish with this 
election, so Henry wants to be on his 
feet when you fall." 

"Hammond, I trust you implicitly. 



You really know this? They came to 
you? Tell me, was my son with them 
when they called, Hammond?" 


"You swear it?" 

"Have I ever lied to you?" broke 
out the lawyer. "Would there be any- 
thing for me to gain in a lie like this?" 

Francis dropped limply into his 

"Henry, my own son," he repeated, 
feebly. "I made Jim Talbot, put him 
where he is and kept him there; O'Gor- 
man, too, though he always had to be 
whipped into line, but my boy, Harry !" 

With his head between his hands the 
Boss sat there. His mastery was gone, 
his fierceness shattered, and as Ham- 
mond eyed him bowed and thinking, he 
appeared a senile, broken down old man 
whose reign had indeed tottered. A 
suspicion born that hour kept the 
younger man from sympathizing with 
him, but he could not keep back a 
wave of pity as he watched the bent 

At last he raised his head. His face 
was white and set. 

"Hammond," he said in a tone of 
quiet decision, "call up the morning 
papers and tell them to send their polit- 
ical men up here. Then call up Loden 
of the Reforms. We'll renounce them 
first and beat them with their own 

On returning from the telephone 
Hammond picked up his hat but the 
other motioned him to a seat. 

"You're not going yet," he said 
quietly, as Hammond slipped into an 
armchair. "I have a story to tell you. 

"Thirty-five years ago I went into 
politics somewhat as you started. I 
learned the rules of the game in my 
class at college, but when I began it 
was with principles as clean as yours 
were. I entered civic strife at a time 
when we voted with a pistol in the 
right hand and a ballot in the left. For 
ten years I played a losing game with 
the best men in the city, then the 
chance came to join the others with 
personal profit to myself. Sick of al- 
ways being on the losing side and firm- 
ly resolving to turn honest later on, I 

changed. My former friends I betrayed 
outright into the hands of my former 
foes. I changed my religion as a 
means to gain power. A man's soul 
I never considered where his vote was 

"When I was still honestly striving I 
married the love of my youth, a pure 
girl who had a beautiful faith in my 
uprightness. We had three sons. 
They grew up under their mother's in- 
fluence until their father changed. 
Then they took their coloring from his 
associates and from his character. The • 
oldest fell from the window of his hotel 
during an orgy with women of the 
street. One of them is to-day responsi- 
ble for a suicide a week at a 
racetrack which is 'protected' by my 
methods of politics. Henry, who runs 
the biggest distillery in the state, be- 
cause the saloons to which I give Sun- 
day freedom buy his whiskey, spends 
three months of the year in a sanato- 
rium. How much affection he has for 
his father is evident from what you 
have seen to-night. We had another 
child, a daughter, whom I have kept 
away at school most of the time in 
order that she shouldn't find out just 
what her father is. She is what her 
mother was before I broke her heart 
by my political dealings, and she is the I 
only person in this whole world who 
has one drop of genuine affection for 
James T. Francis. That is the story 
of a man who started into false politics 
hoping to turn true .as you are hoping. 

"Hammond, by trampling on the 
hearts of men I have come nearer and 
nearer the goal of my hopes, but al- 
ways farther and farther from the goal 
of my earlier resolves. To-day I have 
affluence and influence, but honor I 
have not nor can I get it. Without 
that life's whole game isn't worth the 
shadow the candle throws. In the be- 
ginning I meant well; hell is paved 
with a highroad of my good intentions, 
but over this road my evil acts go rum- 
bling on in an endless procession. To 
try and redeem these acts is hopeless 
now. Their taint is not only in the 
blood of the men that I have corrupted, 
it is ulcerating the blood of the sons 



that I have raised. Into your hands I 
am going to place the knife that is to 
remove this sore that I have procreated. 
Not to cause pain by turning the blade 
in the wound but to run it in to the 
haft and cut out the fester. You are 
going to be the next mayor of this 

The bell rang as Hammond rose 
tremblingly to his feet. 

"Here are the reporters now," said 
Francis, quietly. 

The days which followed the as- 
tounding announcement of the Boss of 
the Independent party were days of 
strife and consternation. Chaos came 
out of comparative cosmos. The 
wheels of machine government were 
clogged and broken. The organizations 
were disorganized. Complete revolu- 
tion had upset the careful planning of 
years, and the ward buzzard's wings 
flapped restlessly above the field of 
battle. The Reform party was shat- 
tered on the rock of its own treachery. 
Some joined the Talbot forces, while 
many flocked to the Hammond ban- 
ner. A large contingent of the Francis 
element divorced itself from that fol- 
lowing because of the lessening of fu- 
ture hopes, while other truly indepen- 
dent men, having long followed the 
hopeless choice of accepting the lesser 
of two evils, sided with Hammond. 
The papers now, save the "World" and 
the "Record," were with him from title 
to tailpiece, from diamond to pica, and 
their influence promised to make up for 
the loss of the vultures who had winged 
their way to the Talbot camp. 

A new suite of offices had been 
secured by Hammond in one of the 
downtown skyscrapers and he had had 
but one occasion to go to the office of 
the Boss since the new slate had been 
made out. That was a brief visit after 
office hours and aside from that he 
had either used the telephone or sent 
a messenger. Moreover, when the 
Boss now wanted to talk with him he 
went to the office of Hammond, so that 
the young man had not seen Miss 
Marion since the night of the revela- 

tion. The Boss had once, with some 
degree of reluctance, Hammond 
thought, suggested that in case he 
needed the girl he would be glad to 
"lend" her to him, but Hammond de- 
clined with thanks. 

By keeping his mind filled with work 
he tried to crowd out all thoughts of 
the girl who had hitherto nestled so 
close to his ambitions. He succeeded in 
convincing himself that he was a fool 
to permit himself to become interested 
in any woman at such a critical period 
of his career, particularly a woman in 
the employ of such a man as Francis 
was. Continual reminders of her came 
to him as he reviewed reports and files 
that she had written, and for a time 
the image conjured up by a tantalized 
mind troubled him. Gradually, how- 
ever, by a forced process of reasoning 
he changed his opinion of her; altered 
the image that caused his mind unrest ; 
corrected his mistake in believing her 
refined, cultured — innocent. Then, as- 
sured of the finality of his convictions, 
he worked on with unclouded mind, 
without another thought of her until 
one day he met her face to face and 
alone in the office of the Boss. There, 
like ice under a summer sun, his coldly 
constructed opinions were melted in 
the warmth of her pure smile ; his cau- 
tiously compiled arguments were 
openly refuted by the innocence which 
radiated from every lineament of her 
person, and he stood before her, flushed, 
abashed, delighted. 

"Why, Mr. Mayor, nee Assessor, 
where have you been?" she asked, as 
she exchanged a firm and friendly hand- 

"Busy, very busy, Miss Goddess," he 
said, guiltily trying to hide his con- 

"Too busy even to remember old 
friends?" she questioned, still smiling. 

"No, busy trying not to remember 
them," he replied, and then as a swift, 
searching look momentarily checked 
her smile, he laughed in spite of his 
feeling and added, "but my attempts 
have been hopeless." 

The smile returned. 

"But during all this rush how could 



you manage without the aid and sug- 
gestions of your private stenographer?" 

"Consideration compelled me to 
make up for previously having over- 
worked that lady." 

"Necessity knows not even the law of 
consideration. Now, if I needed you — " 

She stopped with an embarrassed 
blush while he looked at her steadily. 

"If you ever need me, really need 
me," he said, earnestly, "you can count 
on me without an instant's hesitation. 
I must go," he added, abruptly. "I've 
got to train my verbal artillery for to- 
night's bombardment," and leaving 
with her a package of papers for the 
Boss he went into the street, violently 
deprecating his weakness, weakly at- 
tributing it to her apparently innocent 

Yet after seeing her his ambition 
seemed to have received its second 
wind. With sharpened wits he hewed 
his way through the arguments of his 
opponents; with a new zest he threw 
himself into his work. Every hour was 
filled with making or carrying out 
plans. He was the commander and the 
commanded in one. He gave sugges- 
tions to be acted upon, he acted upon 
suggestions that were given, until at 
last, late on the night of Tuesday, the 
third of November, he dropped wearily 
into a big chair in his apartments and 
laid aside his hat. A mild breeze sifted 
into his open window through the bare- 
limbed trees in the park beyond where 
three year-long months before he had 
dejectedly sat on a lone bench and felt 
that all was lost. He had fought his 
good fight and won. The people had 
stamped their appreciative approval of 
him by electing him their mayor. From 
the opprobrious shafts of humorist and 
cartoonist he had at least partially 
vindicated the term, "an honest politi- 
cian." His face was a bit more hag- 
gard and his form somewhat more at- 
tenuated than when he began his 
fight, but as he lighted a cigar and 
settled back in his chair there flowed 
through his being a placid physical con- 
tentment, the surface of which was 
ruffled by but one distracting thought, 
a thought which time and again he 

tried to drown, but which ever and 
anon bobbed lightly to the surface for 

"Mr. Mayor." From the lips of half 
a hundred he had heard it in earnest 
to-night since the returns were indicant 
of his election. Restored friends and 
new acquaintances, patrician and 
plebian, had spoken it, but not even 
when the present mayor had thus ad- 
dressed him while shaking his hand 
did it give him the thrill that it had 
on a previous occasion under other 
circumstances when his election was 
far less sure. Ah ! if only he could 
convince himself otherwise. If only 
there were another solution. If instead 
of seeing it with his own eyes, some- 
body had but told it to him. What a 
wife for a politician She would make. 
What a great help She would be in the 
struggle that was coming. What an in- 
spiring companion such a girl would 
be in — He checked his thought with 
a shrug of displeasure, but even as he 
dreamily exhaled a blue cloud of smoke 
his thought seemed to complete itself 
in a suggestive wavering ring of vapor 
that slowly circled before him. 

The jingle of the telephone on the 
table beside him interrupted his reverie 
and laying aside his cigar he reached 
for the instrument. 

"Hello," he said. 

"Who is this, please?" came the low 
voice of a woman. 

"John Hammond," and his own voice 
trembled as he said it. 

"Mr. Hammond, I need you — ur- 
gently," pleaded the voice, "can you — 
will you come up at once?" 

"Where are you?" 

"At the Francis home." 

"I'll be there at once," and dropping 
the receiver he reached for his hat. 

Fifteen minutes later, as he sprang 
from a hansom, an auto cab rolled up 
before the Francis residence and a man 
carrying a small, black case followed 
him up the steps. They ascended to 
the second story where they were met 
by Miss Marion. She quietly opened 
the door of her employer's sleeping 
chamber and then stepping aside per- 
mitted the two men to pass within. 



Before the bed in his shirt and 
trousers, Francis knelt, his pallid face 
beautified by an expression of great 
peace. The doctor motioned toward 
the door, and as Hammond closed it he 
loosened the man's shirt and placed his 
hand over his heart. Its beating had 
ceased. Rising he made a careful 
survey of the room and at last, beneath 
a newspaper on the table, he found an 
empty wineglass. Sniffing it gently he 
turned to Hammond. ''Cyanide," he 
said quietly, and dropped the glass into 
his medicine case. 

"I shall notify the papers of this," 
said the physician as he stepped to- 
ward the door. "The cause of his 
death was heart failure due to the un- 
usual excitement of this time. I think 
you understand," he added signifi- 

"Perfectly," returned Hammond. 

As they passed through the hall Miss 
Marion approached the lawyer. 

"Will you come into the study a 
minute?" she asked. 

He followed her into the room at the 
end of the hall where she took from 
the desk a long envelope which was 
i addressed to Hammond, bearing the 
inscription : "In case of my death to be 
read in the presence of my private 
| stenographer." 

"I found this on the table beside 
his bed," she said. 

Breaking the seal, Hammond read : 

"To John Hammond, Esq., I be- 
queath one hundred thousand dollars 
to be paid in cash out of my estate : 
my political power to be bettered by 
him with the strength that in him lies; 
jalso the care of my daughter, Marion 
Francis. The residue of my estate, in- 
cluding the body and soul of said John 
[Hammond, purchased by me from him 
ion September second, 19 — , I bequeath 
to my daughter, Marion Francis." 

His daughter! Hammond stared 

wide-eyed at the revelation — the great 

1 solution which the will offered. Then, 

' turning^ to the girl, who sat crying 

softly in her father's armchair, he 

handed her the bequest. 

A flush crept into her white cheeks 
is she read it and then without look- 

ing up she buried her face in her hands. 

"Marion," said Hammond quietly, as 
he stepped over to where she was sit- 
ting, "this wish of your father's is my 
dearest desire. Are you willing that I 
should take this care and you to keep 
for always?" 

She looked at him through her tear 
wet eyes. 

"Out of gratitude to him?" 

"No, from a great love for his 

For a while she sobbed in silence; 
then looking away from him, she said : 

"Mr. Hammond, I knew my father 
better than you did, and far, far better 
than he, himself, thought I did. I 
knew what his career was ; I know how 
he was estimated in the minds of right- 
thinking men of to-day; I know, too, 
that I bear the name that he dishon- 
ored. Knowing all these things I 
stood by him because I loved him dear- 
ly. Yet — yet, if you seek to — to — " 

"To change your name for my own," 
he aided. 

"Even then you share it," she con- 
tinued, "and in many personal ways — 
people who knew us both say it — I re- 
semble my father." 

"You do. I have seen that. What 
was best in him is a part of you, and 
there was much that was fine in your 
father. What he has done in this last 
election has proven that. He sent him- 
self on the rocks to leave a clear chan- 
nel for me. He died hoping, praying 
that I might begin anew and retrieve 
whatever wrong he did. That with 
God's help I am going to do, but, dear, 
I want also the help that you can 

He bent over the huddled, sobbing 
form and very gently raised her face to 

"The body and soul that were mine 
are yours; won't you take, too, the 
heart that is yours as well?" 

Again she bowed her face into her 
left hand, but with her right held out 
to him she nodded her head ever so 
slightly, and he taking the hand drew 
her to him and holding her close, 
buried his face in the fragrant depths 
of brown, wavy hair. 

Some Adventures of the Wife and 
Son of Henry Hudson— II. 



FEW entries from the diary, in 
which Richard Hudson is men- 
tioned, follow : 

"Jan. 4. — And I sent Richard 
Hudson to Cochie to take notis of 
thinges left in our howses, and de- 
livered them to Shinso Dono, 
greate Domingo's father, and 
weare as followeth, viz. : — 817 long 
shething plankes, 136 shorte ditto, 

005 square tymbers, 002 ladders, 

006 dores for gedonges, and 1 dore 
lost out of littell howse, 006 win- 
does to shutt, 002 shipp boates or 
skiffs, without ores. 

"Feb. 12. — I sent Ric. Hudson to 
fetch back my letter which I wrot 
to the Precedent at Bantam, .dated 
the 10th present, and sent per 
James Littell, the Scotchman, 
which letter I instantly, at recept 
thereof, shewed unto Mr. Eaton 
and Jno. Osterwick, etc. 

"May 26. — The X Japon coates or 
kerremons, sent from the Emperours 
councell to Capt. Camps (of the 
Dutch factory) and my selfe for 
a present, came this day, and we 
tooke each of us 5. And I gave 
3 of myne to Mr. Eaton, Mr. Oster- 
wick, and Ric. Hudson. 

"June 3. — As we sat at supper 
at night, there entred a Japon gen- 
tellman into our howse, with 30 or 
40 men attending on hym, and 
came into our halle before we saw 
hym. Soe I desird hym to sitt 
downe and take parte of such fare 
as we had; which he did, and 
seemed to take it in very kind 

parte. And sowne after he sent 
me a jarr of nipa, or rack of pi, for 
a present, per one of his gentel- 
men, per whome I understood his 
masters name was Ismo Dono, a 
greate man of Xaxma (Satsuma), 
whome the king of that place 
sendes up to Edo to kisse themper- 
ours handes and geve hym thankes 
for the greate presentes and good 
entertaynment themperour gave 
hym at his being at Edo. Soe, after 
his man was departed, I sent Ric. 
Hudson with Tome, our jurebasso 
(interpreter) abord his bark (for 
he passeth secretly, and lodgeth 
not ashore) to crave pardon of his 
Lordshipp, yf I had not geven hym 
such entertaynment as his worth 
deserved, being ignorant of his 
greatnesse and abashed at the 
honour he did me in sending me a 
present. And withall I sent hym 
a bottell of strong water which, 
as it seemed, he took in very kynde 
part. Ric. Hudson and the jure- 
basso said he had a very great 
bark with a faire cabben in it, 
hanged all about with ruch damask, 
and attended on with many men, 
both ould and yong, with greate 
reverence and silence, their heads 
bowed downe to the grownd, soe 
that they judged hym a man of 
greate qualletie ; yet he seemed not 
to be above xxx yeares of adge." 

On November 30th of this year 
Cocks started on his last recorded jour- 
ney to Yedo, this time in company with 
the Dutch head-merchant, Leonard 
Camps. Before his departure Cocks 
wrote to the Company a letter, which 



is calendared, in part, as follows: 
"Osterwick going with Cocks to Yedo, 
for one is not to go alone to the Em- 
peror; only Eaton left to stay in the 
factory during their absence, and Ric. 
Hudson, a young youth." 

They delivered their presents and, 
after long delay, were given leave to 
depart; but they were dismissed with- 
out the usual return gifts, which 
Cocks thought "truly the greatest 
wrong or indignety that eaver hitherto 
was offered to any Christian." This 
was not until the 18th of the follow- 
ing March, and in the midst of the 
homeward journey, Cocks made the 
following entry in the diary: 

"March 23. — . . . And, by 
the way, we met with Quiemon 
Dono, our barkman or sinde (boat- 
man), of Sackay, whoe brought me 
3 letters from Mr. Eaton, 2 of one 
date, 3th of January, and both 
coppis verbatum, and anotherof the 
10th of February; wherein he 
writes me all the Japon presoners 
which were in our howse are sett 
at liberty; and that the Hollanders 
sent our 6 English men ashore 
againe which weare abord their 
shipp, being compeld by Japons. 
Soe they carid them all to Nan- 
gasaque, and Jno. Yoosen hath 
them in his handes and will not 
deliver them unto us, allthough 
Mr. Eaton sent Ric. Hudson and « 
a jurebasso with hym to demand 
them, offering to pay all the char- 
ges he hath disbursed. But he an- 
swered that he would not deliver 
them, although the King of Firan- 
do and Governor of Nangasaque 
comanded hym, for that he 
had mad ready his junck 
and ment to send them to the 
Holland factory at Jaccatra, 
except we would buy his junck and 
pay hym 20,000 tales he had dis- 
bursed in provitions to send 
thither. But the world knoweth 
that Yoosen is not worth 20,000 

While Cocks was making this journey 
and Richard Hudson was peacefully 

employed in the factory at Firando, 
Mrs. Hudson applied to the Company, 
in London, for a part of her son's 
wages. But affairs in Japan were not 
prosperous and the directors did not 
feel disposed to be generous. The 
court minutes of December 13, 1621, 
show the following: "Petition of Kath- 
erine Hudson for part of her son's 
wages ; he is now at Japan, and went 
out eight years since ; no wages made 
with him; was told she could have 

On March 24, 1622, Cocks' diary ends 
abruptly. In November of that year, 
the ship Bull, Captain Cockram, arrived 
from Jacatra, and Cocks sent Edmund 
Sayers and Richard Hudson to Yedo 
with the customary presents, explain- 
ing the matter thus in letters to the 

"Edmond Sayer, with Ric. Hud- 
son are at this instant ready to 
departe towards Edo with our 
presentes for themperour and his 
Councell, as the Hollanders are 
the like, and our ffrendes geve us 
councell not to stay behind them. 
And Mr. Joseph Cockram goeth in 
the Bull for Jaccatra. Soe Mr. Jno. 
Osterwick and my selfe or neces- 
sety must stay heare to gett in 
monies to dispach away the Eliz- 
abeth, as I think Mr. Eaton must 
doe the like; for it is noe staying 
a shipp of such greate charges as 
she is any long tyme upon doubt- 
full occations. 

"Edmond Sayer and Ric. Hud- 
son and 2 Hollanders, went from 
hence towardes Edo with pres- 
entes to themperour and his Coun- 
cell ; and we have adviz from them 
of their arrivall at Miaco, and that 
all men speake ill of them and cry 
out against them. Soe God know- 
eth whether our presentes will be 
receved or noe." 

The time was now approaching when 
the effort to establish trade with Japan 
could no longer be maintained. More 
than ten years had been consumed and 
large sums expended, but no adequate 



trade had been established. At a con- 
sultation of the Council of Batavia, 
April 25th, 1623, the dissolution of the 
factory was determined upon, and Cap- 
tain Cockram was soon after dis- 
patched, with the Bull, to bring away 
the factors. His credentials com- 
manded all the members "to come 
away from thence upon the ship Bull 
lor Batavia; hereby charging you and 
every of. you to fulfill our said order, 
as you will answer the contrary at your 

The arrival of the Bull made it nec- 
essary to send presents, once more, to 

he maye returne in tyme to further 
the dispach of this shipp in om de- 

Although the Bull arrived in July, 
it was not until the 23rd of December 
that the factors were able to go on 
board ; they then remained one day 
longer, in order to partake of a ban- 
quet with some of their Japanese 
fiiends, and sailed on the 24th, at noon. 
Thus "failure" was definitely written 
upon the effort to establish trade with 
Japan and China, for the time being. 

Upon their arrival at Batavia, poor 


the court of the Shogun, and the choice 
oi a messenger again fell upon Rich- 
ard Hudson. The letters which he 
carried recited : 

"And nowe, seeinge yt cannot be 
otherwise, wee doe now send the 
bearer hearof, Richard Hudson, 
whoe carreth with him certaine 
small presents for his Majesties 
Councell, beinge such as the tyme 
will aford and our abilities of 
meanes strech unto; humbly en- 
treatinge your Highnes to further 
the dispach of this messenger, that 

Cocks found himself in serious trouble, 
the Council being disposed to cast the 
entire responsibility for the failure upon 
him. His lack of discipline, the con- 
fusion of his accounts, and other irregu- 
larities were urged against him; and 
it was proposed that he be treated as 
a malefactor and sent home under 
arrest. But his age, his position, his 
bad health and testy temper, were 
urged in extenuation. It was thought 
too, that harsh treatment might shorten 
his life; and, in the end, milder counsel 
prevailed. It was determined to leave 
him to be dealt with by the Company 



in London, but his goods were ordered 
to be seized upon arrival. "Thus," says 
the editor of his diary, "in disgrace and 
broken in health, Cocks went on board 
the Ann Royal, and on the 24th of 
February (1624) sailed for England. 
But he was not to see his country 
again. A month later, on the 27th of 
March, he died at sea, and was buried 
'under a discharge of ordnance.' " 

The subsequent services of Richard 
Hudson with the East India Company 
were to be in India. 

Katharine Hudson in India, 1617-1619 

It would seem a reasonable assump- 
tion that a woman who had lost a 
husband and one son in the cause of 
exploration, and who had sent another 
son (perhaps the only one remaining) 
to far-off Japan, had made sacrifices 
enough to the adventurous spirit of the 
age. It appears, however, that the 
atmosphere of adventure, in which she 
had lived so many years, was more 
powerful with Mrs. Hudson than such 
considerations as these. Nearly three 
years after her son's departure from 
England, fired with ambition to do 
some adventuring on her own account, 
she obtained leave of the Company to 
go to India on one of its ships. 

The fleet of the year 1617 consisted 
of five ships, all under the command 
of Martin Pring, — the same Pring who, 
in 1603, was the first European captain 
to sail into Massachusetts Bay. Mrs. 
Hudson was a passenger on the New 
Year's Gift, Nathaniel Salmon, captain. 
On the same ship were Captain Gabriel 
Towerson, his wife, and Francis 
Webb, a young woman whom Mrs. 
Towerson had leave to take along as 
her lady-in-waiting. This group of peo- 
ple were closely associated with Mrs. 
Hudson and merit brief notice. 

Towerson was probably a son of the 
William Towerson, who was a "mer- 
chant adventurer," made a voyage to 
Guinea about 1555, and was interested 
in the voyages to the northeast of Fen- 
ton and Davis. It is also possible that 
he was related to the Hudsons. He 
was in the Company's first voyage, in 

1601, acted as its chief agent at Ban- 
tam from 1605 to 1608, and commanded 
various ships at different times. In 
1614 he married the widow of Captain 
William Hawkins, an Armenian whom 
Hawkins had married at Agra, in 1609, 
at the suggestion of the Grand Mogul. 
Her mother subsequently married "a 
Dutchman, from Antwerp, called Abra- 
ham de Duyts, a diamond polisher, a 
great friend of the Prince Sultan Khur- 
ram (son of the Grand Mogul) in 
whose service he was." The year after 
his marriage, Towerson applied to the 
Company to be again employed, but 
was refused. In this situation, being 
doubtless in need of employment, his 
thoughts naturally turned to his father- 
in-law, and it was in the hope of pro- 
moting his interests at the Indian court 
that he prevailed upon the Company to 
allow himself and wife a passage. 

Richard Steel, "a young man of Bris- 
tol," who had been in Persia, had con- 
ceived a hare-brained project for build- 
ing water- works for the city of Agra, 
and prevailed upon the Company to 
allow him to take out in the fleet a 
number of workmen for that purpose. 
Before sailing, he had secretly married 
Miss Webbe, and they took passage on 
different ships ; but her condition upon 
arrival at the Cape caused a scandal 
and obliged him to acknowledge her 
and to go on board the Gift. Captain 
Salmon wrote the Company, from 
Saldania, concerning this, in lively 
style : 

"But before I pass the equinoc- 
tial, I am to acquaint your Hon- 
ours and Worships with a strange 
accident which hath happened con- 
trary, I do think, to any of your 
expectations; and that is that one 
of the gentlewomen which came 
with Captain Towerson and his 
wife is great with child . 
but the best is she hath a father for 
it in the fleet, yet none aboard of 
the Gift (where haply it might be 
judged, were not the contrary 
known) but aboard the Anne; the 
party, Mr. Richard Steele, who 
was married unto her before our 



coming forth and since the ack- 
nowledgment of it hath been 
resident aboard our ship. Cap- 
tain Towerson and his wife 
were ignorant of it until it was 
publicly known ; only it was Mas- 
ter Steele's project at home to get 
them to entertain her, and so had 
thought it should have been kept 
secret till they had come to 

The fleet reached the Cape at the 
end of June and the Comoro Islands 
in the middle of August. The Gift 
captured on the way a Portuguese 
tiader, carrying gold and ivory from 
Mozambique to Diu, worth between 
eight and nine thousand pounds. The 
same ship, with the aid of the Bee, 
also rescued a Mogul ship from two 
English freebooters, just before reach 
ing port and, giving chase, took them as 
prizes. They reached Suwali, the out- 
port of Surat, on September 20th, and 
Capt. Towerson and his party took up 
their quarters in the English factory 
ai the latter place. 

The city of Surat, former site of the 
presidency for the East India Com- 
pany, is the chief city and administra- 
tive headquarters of Surat District. 
Bombay. It lies on the south bank of 
the river Tapti, ten miles from the sea. 
Farly travellers describe it as populous 
and wealthy, and it is still an im- 
portant town, although most of its 
tiade has long since been transfered to 
Bombay. Both the English and the 
Dutch had their principal factories 
there in the early days of their trade, 
and the French also had a small settle- 
ment. It was the custom for trading 
ships to dispose of only a part of their 
cargoes at Surat, in exchange for in- 
digo, and then to sail to Acheen and 
Bantam, where they exchanged the 
remainder of their European goods, 
as well as the Gujarat cottons taken on 
at Surat, for spices for the home mar- 
ket. In 1638 a young gentleman of 
Kolstein, Albert de Mandelslo, paid a 
visit to Surat and left an interesting 
account of it, which was published at 
London in 1669. Extracts from this 

book are given in Churchill's Voyages, 
which give a picture of the English 
factory at Surat, very nearly as it ex- 
isted at the time of Mrs. Hudson'.-: 

Glad as they were to welcome the 
fleet, the coming of Towerson and 
Steel with the women in their party 
was an unpleasant surprise to the fac- 
tors at Surat. The factory building 
did not afford room to lodge them 
properly, without inconvenience to the 
factors. A letter from Edward Mono.x 
to the Company shows how they felt 
about it : 

"Mrs. Steele shortly after her 
sea travel travailed on shore, and 
brought forth, to the no small jcy 
of her husband, a goodly young 
son, of whom you may hope one 
day to have as good service as 
from his father; but in the mean- 
time you must be content to suffer 
want of due service from some 
whom would be glad to ex- 
press their duty therein, which 
for want of convenient room 
they could not perform, the house 
being so pestered with them and 
Captain Towerson and their re- 
tinue that for my own part 
during my abode there I had no 
chamber to lie in nor place to 
write in, which caused me unwill- 
ingly to omit duties which, other- 
wise, I should have performed; 
notwithstanding Mr. Kerridge had 
been plain enough divers times 
both with Captain Towerson and 
the rest, who could not or would 
not find a house in all the town to 
serve his turn ; but I cannot great- 
ly blame him, for it eased his parse 
well. But by great importunity, a 
little before my departure, he was 
persuaded to take a house (though 
not to his liking) ; so I hope before 
this time he is removed. But 
what he intends to do, I think, no 
man knows, no, not himself; for 
while they were at sea all their 
talk was in going to Agra, but 
since their landing, from that 
course quite altered. I fear of a 



Japanese tea merchant's shop 

bootless errand he is come out 
and of a sleeveless one lie must re- 
turn home; but I much doubt you 
will find it had been better you 
had given him £500 than his pas- 
sage forth and home in your 

The son born to Mrs. Steel was the 
second child born of English parents 
in India. 

The factors at Surat were three in 
number: Thomas Kerridge, Thomas 
Rastell, and Giles James. Over them 
was Sir Thomas Roe, who had been 
sent as an ambassador to the Grand 
Mogul, Jahangir, charged with the 
duty of negotiating a treaty. His Jour- 
nal, published in part of Purchas and 
more fully in Churchill's Voyages, gives 
an entertaining account of his adven- 
tures. At the time of the arrival of 
Pring's fleet he was at Mundu, where 
Jahangir then resided, awaiting the 
outcome of his negotiations. 

Mrs. Hudson took with her the sum 
of £100, which she wished to invest 
in private trade. The Surat factors 
were careful to lay this matter, as well 
as Towerson's and Steel's desires, 

promptly before Roe and to ask for 
instructions. The coming of the party 
with their demands for special privi- 
leges, gave Sir Thomas much annoy- 
arce; but he was a man of firmness 
c-.nd did not shrink from his duty. He 
replied promptly and fully, leaving the 
factors no room for doubt as to his 
views. He refused to permit Tower- 
son or Steel to endanger the lives of 
the women in their party by travelling 
without a proper escort; while urging 
them to send the women home, he 
strove with kind words to attach them 
to the Company's service; private 
trade in cotton goods he would allow, 
under certain conditions; but as to the 
chief commodity, indigo, he positively 
forbade it. He insisted that Towerson 
and Steel must bear their own ex- 
penses and reproved the factors for 
permitting the latter to use some of 
the Company's funds. "Captain Tow- 
erson and his wife will be welcome 
hither; but if the king continue his pur- 
pose, it will ease them much to meet 
us at Amadavaz (Ahmedabad). Com- 
mend me to them; they shall find the 
Company's respect in me." 

Late in October the imperial court 



left Mandu and moved by slow stages 
toward Ahmedabad. Roe left the for- 
mer place on the 29th and overtook 
the royal cortege two days later; on 
the 2d of the following month he was 
joined by Steel, who brought some 
pearls which Roe had promised the 
Mogul's minister. After an interview 
with c^teel, Roe wrote the factors : 

"I have dealt with Mr. Steel 
very fairly and clearly, and opened 
his mind. He gives me satisfac- 
tion in his promises, and I doubt 
not to accommodate all so well c-s 
we may live like friends. The 
principal difference will be about 
his wife. For both their misfor- 
tunes I am sorry; but we must all 
endeavor to mend and not to make 
the worst or take advantage of er- 
rors. To this purpose I have dealt 
freely with him, to let him see the 
inconvenience that will follow to 
us, the charge to him, the dis- 
pleasure of the Company, all 
which may be recured by a good 
course, to persuade her to return 
home, which I have prevailed so 
far in as that his own reason hath 
drawn his consent, and to that end 
hath promised his endeavor to sat- 
isfy the gentlewoman, whom I am 
sorry for. But this cannot be so 
well effected except you join with 
him to discourage Captain Towei- 
son from purpose to stay. His 
father (father-in-law) will do 
little, nor is able ; his mother-in- 
law poor, at Agra, and he will be 
consumed if he fall to travel on his 
own purse, and from the king can 
expect nothing but penny for penny 
at best ; his wife's aunt promised in 
marriage to PVans S wares, the pro- 
digal Portugall ; and finally noth- 
thing before him but consump- 
tion. I write this plainly for good 
will, if he so accept it. Therefore 
he shall do most discreetly to re- 
turn in a fair ship ; for his wrfe 
cannot have any English women 
in company with her, with our 
safety. This at large I have dis- 
coursed to Mr. Steel . . . F,t 

Mr. Steel, perhaps some mistak- 
ing in him at first might move dis- 
content, and some roughness to 
him occasion it. I had myself 
some exceptions against him, but I 
have passed them. I desire you to 
do the like. By private letters of 
recommendations I find him well 
respected at home, and, therefore, 
we must not be too rigid here, as 
long as he offereth his employ 
ments and endeavors so fairly. 
He hath taken pains and travail; 
and if some of his projects are yet 
doubtful, some in my judgment in- 
feasible, yet we must not disgrace 
. them without trial, lest we incur ' 
the same censure of rashness 
which by it we would cast upon 
him. Therefore, I desire you he 
may be fairly used, admitted as a 
second man into your consulta- 
tions, for that he is to bide here 
and those for Bantam more stran- 
gers to this business than he can 
be. I doubt not, his professions 
are so fair, he will every way be 
conformable to the service of the 
Company, and by all industry as- 
sist your business. Therefore, I 
shall likewise hope you will use 
him with courtesy, forgetting of 
all sides past passions. Thus the 
business proceedings, and he pre- 
vailing with his wife for her re- 
turn, I desire he may return to me 
with the presents, bringing with 
them his artificers as a guard ; for, 
the court settling at Amadavaz, we 
will make full trial what may be 
effected, that we answer upon 
judgment the Company's expecta- 
tion, etc." 

It is clear from this that there had 
been dissension between Steel and the 
Surat factors, and that they had re- 
fused to admit him to their councils. 
Five days later, while still upon the 
road in Mogul's train, Roe wrote the 
factors : 

"If I find any fault it is at you. 
that you will suffer Mr. Steele to 
run out at beginning, to take the 
Company's money to lay out for 



a house, or to waste in his expense 
any way. If he will be vain, let 
him do it at his own cost; for, 
roundly, I will not allow any extra 
ordinary charge for his wife, and 
therefore I pray reckon with him. 
If she return and he stay, I will 
do him all kindness according to 
his desert, and recommend her to 
the Company's care. Excuse what 
is past, but let not them smart for 
it that are innocent. You that 
have the Company's purse must 
order it. Money is dear ware in 
India. I would have you use her 

your and my advice may be 
favored. . . . His (Steel's) 
wife will be ruled and return; and 
therefore consider her sex. Use 
her lovingly, assist her and lend 
her all fit comforts. I hope the 
house kept apart is at their own 
charge, for I perceive not the 
Company intended to keep their 
families. You have done as much 
as is necessary to Capt. Tower- 
son. He will be deceived in Court 
and in his wife's friends. If he 
will not see it, let him run his for- 
tune, so the other women return. 

The Presidency, Lucknow 

and Captain Towerson with cour- 
tesy, but not to live upon you, lest 
they stay too long." 

His next letter was written in "The 
Woods, 30 course (koss, about 60 
miles) short of Amadavaz," on Decem- 
ber 6th; and discusses Mrs. Hudson's 

"For private trade you know my 
orders, and I the Company's 
pleasure. The prime commodity 
(indigo) no man, I hope, will deal 
in under any pretence; cloth, if 
they do, and consent to acquaint 
the factors with it and remit it to 
their masters, it may pass, and by 

. I received Mrs. Hudson's 
desires from herself. And for in- 
dicoes, she pleads Sir Thomas 
Smith's consent; which, if in writ- 
ing, private or public I had yielded 
to; now I cannot. Her demand is 
like Martin's, to have the Com- 
pany's (indigo) for money, or to 
invest it for her. Your answer 
must be as mine; the first is un- 
reasonable and cannot be an- 
swered; the second is too late and 
cannot be fulfilled. If she desires 
it in cloth (that takes small bulk), 
though these sums are very great, 
yet for her £100 you may admit, 
consign it to the Company, and 



leave their liberty to themselves. 
I would her example would teach 
others, the Company's servants, to 
trust their masters. She may be 
as lucky as a calling duck; and 
therefore try her." 

The expression that he had received 
Mrs. Hudson's desires from herself ap- 
pears to mean that she had written, 
upon finding the Surat factors obsti- 
nate, as she had not left Surat at that 

The Mogul having turned aside to 
Cambay, "to gaze upon the unfamiliar 
ocean," Roe now made a forced march 
to reach Ahmedabad in the middle of 
December. Soon after he again wrote 
the Surat factors, showing Towerson's 
arrival there, his own growing indig- 
nation with Towerson's pretensions, 
and his dislike of the State which he 

"I perceive by some here a reso- 
lution in Captain Towerson to go 
to the southward, to which I never 
can nor will consent; neither take 
notice of it, until it be moved, but 
by provision give you my reasons : 
particularly for him, he pretended 
to the Company no purpose but to 
come to Suratt, only to visit his 
wife's friends, not to trade, but 
those things he had, pretended for 
gifts and presents, and to that end 
signed them a deed with his wife, 
which they have sent me, to urge 
him with, if I see him take any 
course perjudicial to them or be- 
gin any new which he had not 
licence for nor acquainted them 
with ; with this they have given 
me caution to have an eye on his 
courses and actions, which were 
a very blind one if I should not see 
the disadvantage of his passing so 
great a stock through all the Com- 
pany's commodities and ports. A 
general reason against him is the 
clause in the letter written to you 
where they declare that kind of 
private trade more prejudicial to 

them than a bare return for Eng- 
land; and that I know it is, for 
Martin, Christian, and many 
others are an example. Neither 
see how the Company can give 
such liberty to him, and so re- 
strain me and all their servants, 
whose deserts will equal any cap- 
tain or woman. Perhaps they 
thought her greatness (Mrs. Tow- 
erson) could do them some pleas- 
ure; if so, they mistake their 
friends; it is well if she return as 
she came. What courtesy I can 
do him I will, such as I can an- 
swer with my discretion and no 
more. He is here arrived with 
many servants, a trumpt (trum- 
peter) and more show than I use. 
If I may stead him I am glad, but 
I think it had been fitter to have 
kept the Company's servants about 
their own business, for I known 
not when he will return, nor what 
his presence here will produce." 

Steel, with the ladies under his care 
and the artificers as a guard, reached 
Ahmedabad soon after the middle of 
February, 1618. A day or two before 
their arrival, Roe wrote to the fac- 
tors : "The woemen are almost arrived 
at court, but I hope I shall depart this 
towne before, the King goeing out 
suddenly, which makes mee now take 
my leave." On the same day he wrote 
a letter to the Company in London, 
from which the following abstract is 
made : 

"Towerson and his wife find 
poor reception ; her friends are 
poor and mean, and weary of 
them ; he came with hopes of good 
diamonds ; is sorry for him and 
his little vanity, and has used his 
best advise to persuade his return ; 
he pretends the Company's licence 
for private trade. Evils of grant- 
ing this favor; it makes all their 
servants grudge. Mrs. Hudson 
claims the like for her proportion, 
but has also denied her. Is the 
same to man and woman." 



I REMEMBER Grandfather Alden, 
notwithstanding he died when I 
was a very little girl. He had a 
noble face, for all the world like the 
face of one of those beautiful New 
England poets. He was a poet him- 
self, though, of course, not famous like 
those others. Grandmother Alden was 
much younger that grandfather, 
though she lived but a year or two 
after he died. She had a very sweet 
face, and anyone could see that she 
must have been a beauty in her young 
womanhood. Indeed, she was a beauty 
to the last. They have both been dead 
a score of years, and I am sure neither 
would mind now if they knew I were 
publishing the manuscript bearing the 
title of "Playmates," which I found 
not long ago among grandfather's 
papers. I do not suppose he intended 
it for publication when he wrote it, 
but wrote it for the mere pleasure of 
writing, as one will when his heart is 
full and overflowing. This is it: 

To make a good beginning I must 
begin the story with Belle. Belle Hath- 
away is a daughter of my dear friends, 
Mr. and Mrs. Atherton Hathaway. I 
have been a friend of the family for 
ciose on to two decades. I trotted 
Belle on my knee when she was a baby, 
made paper dolls for her when she was 
a little girl, helped her with her lessons 
when she was a Miss at school, and 
once or twice have taken her to the 
theatre since she became a young lady ; 
for Belle is almost twenty now. 

I am tempted to describe Belle to 
you, but, upon reflection, do not think 
I will. The description could not fail 
to be a failure. Words cannot picture 
flesh and blood — say nothing of soul ! 
And if they could, they couldn't picture 
such a combination of flesh and blood 

and soul as Belle! But the next time 
you see a woman whose beauty attracts 
dnd holds you more than any you have 
seen for a good six months, think of 
Belle! It will not be like her, of 
course, — for God made only one like 
her — but it will be nearer like her than 
any woman you have seen before for 
six months. 

"A bachelor of forty rhapsodizing 
over a girl of twenty!" That is what 
you say. And you add, "Probably she 
is really plain, only he doesn't know 
it." But that would be a mistake. 

However, it doesn't matter whether 
you think Belle is beautiful or not. 

Charlie Hunter is twenty-two, and 
a handsome, wholesome young fellow. 
He and Belle must have known each 
other for at least five years. And for 
the past two years I think the parents 
of both the young people, as well as 
the intimate friends of the two fami- 
lies — myself included — have looked 
forward to their marriage as not only 
possible, but probable. 

Not only would there be no objec- 
tions raised to the marriage of Belle 
and Charlie, when they should become 
old enough, but on the contrary, the 
prospect of their union was agreeable 
to their respective parents and friends. 
It was thought they would make a 
very happy couple, and it was certain 
they would make a very handsome one. 
If no match ensued it would surely be 
the fault of no one but the young 
people themselves. The course for love 
to run in was wide and smooth, and 
if it didn't run in it, and run smoothly, 
it would seem to indicate that the love 
wasn't true love, — that is, if there is 
any truth to the old adage. There may 
not be. 

As far as Charlie Hunter was con- 




cerned, there seemed to be no doubt 
about his love being true enough. He 
was devotion itself to Belle. I don't 
know that I ought to say his affection 
for her struck me as dog-like, for "dog- 
like" is scarcely applicable to Charlie 
under any circumstances; but so far 
as faithfulness is concerned, his affec- 
tion seemed as true as that of a faith- 
ful dog. It was not until you came to 
Belle that the uncertainties of this love 
affair began to appear. That she liked 
Charlie was plain enough to any of us; 
but whether it was merely a friendly 
regard, a sort of sisterly liking, or 
whether it was something stronger and 
deeper, was not so clear. Belle isn't 
a girl who wears her heart on her 
sleeve, or for that matter in any place 
where its maidenly beatings are ex- 
posed to profane eyes. She keeps it 
nested deep in her bosom, and if now 
and then there have been flutterings — 
and what maiden's heart of twenty has 
escaped them? — no eye has seen them 
So none of us knew whether Belle 
loved Charlie or not. I sometimes 
thought, perhaps she did not know 
herself. If she did not love him I 
thought she could easily learn to. It 
seemed to me that Charlie was just the 
sort of fellow to win a young girl's 

Another young man, Hadley Brooks, 
had paid Belle some attention, and 
Belle, if she had not smiled upon him, 
at least had not frowned. Brooks was 
an excellent enough fellow, for all that I 
can say. I know of absolutely nothing 
against him. And yet I don't like him. 
I don't know whether it was the re- 
mark he made one day, in my presence, 
about poets — not a complimentary 
remark, exactly — that awakened this 
dislike, or not. I think not, for, unless 
I am mistaken, I had conceived a dis- 
like for him before that. It is quite 
possible that remark deepened and con- 
firmed the feeling. But however that 
may be, that fact remains that I dis- 
like him. And if he really cared for 
Belle and wanted to win her affections, 
he could not have been a very good 
plotter for a maiden's heart. And I 
will tell you why. Any lover with his 

wits about him must have seen that 
Belle valued my opinion highly. He 
should have known — for Belle never 
sought to disguise it — that she held 
me and my opinion in quite as high 
esteem as the person and opinion of 
any old friend of the family. Her 
father and mother used to try to get 
her to call me ''uncle," but she said, 
"No. I wasn't her uncle." She 
wanted to call me John, just as they 
did. I was her playmate and it was 
pioper to call me John, just as they 
did. It would be absurd to call her 
playmate "uncle." That was the con- 
clusion she reached at the age of six, 
and she has adhered to it ever since, 
Thus I have always been John to her, 
and am to this day. So you can readily 
see that, under the circumstances, it 
would be very foolish for a lover of 
Belle to affront Belle's old friend John. 
If I may put it that way, I was the one 
courtier at Belle's court whose favor 
should have first been sought by any 
seeker after the heart of the Queen. 
I was the minister whose words were 
certain to have most weight with her. 
The fact that Hadley Brooks failed to 
recognize this indicates to my mind 
that after all he was a rather dull 
young man. 

So that remark of Mr. Brooks about 
poets — Belle didn't hear it, or she 
would probably have dismissed the 
young man then and there — might very 
easily have proved to him a costly 
blunder. Charlie Hunter was different. 
He has always treated me with appar- 
ent deference. I am not so pessimis- 
tic — if I am a bachelor — as to suppose 
he has been other than sincere in this 
regard. He saw that Belle liked her 
old friend and playmate, and, perhaps, 
it didn't occur to him to dislike any- 
thing that Belle liked. Certainly he 
has seemed to like me, and I am quite 
sincere in saying that I have always 
liked him. 

So if it came to Belle's making a 
choice between Charlie Hunter and 
Hadley Brooks, you can see easily 
enough in whose favor my in- 
fluence would be cast. And more than 
once, lately, I had feared she was inclin- 



ing towards Brooks. But as I have 
said, the heart so deeply nested in her 
bosom made it hard for even so close 
and jealous an observer as myself to be 
certain towards whom her affections 

Now the future happiness of Belle lay 
very near to my heart, as you can easily 
imagine from what I have already told 
you. No real uncle, or father for that 
matter, could be more deeply interested 
in the welfare and happiness of a niece 
or daughter, than I was in Belle's. I 
believed honestly enough that she 
would be happier with Charlie Hunter 
than with Hadley Brooks, and when, 
as it seemed to me, she began to show 
more interest in Brooks and a little 
less in Charlie, I became frightened. 
And it was this that determined me to 
take a hand in the matter and use what 
influence I could command in favor 
of Charlie. This favor to Charlie — 
inestimable, should my efforts prove 
successful — was to be done without 
his knowledge. I could picture to my- 
self the gratitude he would feel when 
he learned that my influence had been 
used in his hehalf. Never by word 
or act had he expressed the hope that 
[ would intercede for him, but I knew 
that he would be overjoyed if I would. 

Though I liked the young fellow well 
enough on his own account to hope 
that I should be successful, I will not 
pretend that it was at all on his account 
that I did it. It was done entirely on 
Belle's, and because I believed her 
happiness was thereby being promoted. 

This decision to interfere in behalf of 

harlie was reached several days ago, 
Out it was not until last evening that 
the opportunity I was looking for 

I frequently spend my evenings at 
"he Hathaways, and last evening went 
■here according to custom. On the 
way I passed the Hunter's door, and 
Charlie chanced to be coming out as 
[ approached. I wondered if the young 
ellow's destination was the same as 
nine, but he started off in the opposite 
iirection. He gave me a cheery "Good 
evening, Mr. Alden!" as we met, and 
ifter I had returned his pleasant salu- 

tation and passed on, I thought to my- 
self : " You lucky dog, if you knew what 
I am going to do for you the first 
chance I get, you would not only give 
me that cheery smile, but you would 
pause and wring my hand as well." 
I don't know but I sighed softly once 
or twice after meeting Charlie. I'm 
afraid I envied the young fellow his 

Belle was at home. "Papa and 
mama have gone out to make a call," 
she said. "I'm so glad you've come. 
I've been thinking what a stupid even- 
ing was before me, and wondering 
what I should do. But now we'll have 
a nice time together." 

"But what will you do with a prosy 
old fellow like me, Belle?" I asked. 

"You're not prosy," she said, laugh- 
ing. "You are poesy — Is there any 
such word?" 

"I hope so," I said, "but whether 
there is or not, don't you know there 
is no one so prosy as a bachelor of 
forty who writes verses?" 

"What have you written lately? I 
want you to recite it to me at once!" 
she said, with some of the old childish 
imperiousness in her tone and manner 
that had always struck me as delicious. 
In these later years it had betrayed 
itself with less frequency. 

"I believe I haven't written any- 
thing lately, Belle," I said. "I'm not 
sure, but I'm gradually getting over 
the disease. Some day I may be com- 
pletely cured!" 

"Disease !" exclaimed Belle. "I only 
wish 'twas contagious and I could 
catch it!" 

Belle has always been foolishly fond 
of the little nothings I have written in 
rhyme. Many's the jingle with which 
I caught her fancy when she was a 
child, and to this day she wouldn't 
think Christmas was Christmas unless 
my present to her was accompanied by 
some little Christmas sentiment that 
I had fashioned into verse. 

"Well, Belle, what are we going to 
do?" I asked. "You are so much of 
a young lady now that I am beginning 
to feel afraid of you. Young ladies 
ought to be entertained, bul I've for 



gotten how — if, indeed, I ever knew. 
I'm rusty, you see, and I've got to leave 
it to you to suggest what we shall do." 

"O", let's just talk to-night, John. I 
suppose I could let you entertain me 
by singing to you if I would," she said, 
with a little laugh, "but I don't believe 
I want to sing — at least, not yet. I 
think it will be cosy to have a nice 
talk together, don't you?" 

"Indeed I do, Belle. You couldn't 
suggest anything that would please me 
better," I replied. Here was the op- 
portunity to say what I wanted to 
about Charlie, I reflected. The 
thought brought me a curious pang, 
but I had no idea of wavering in my 

"And I'll tell you what I'm going to 
do," she said. "I'm going to turn the 
lights low, and we are to sit here by 
the window in the moonlight." 

"The very thing!" I said. 

"There! isn't this nice!" she said. 
She had turned the big easy chair 
round so that it faced the window and 
made me sit down in it, and then she 
had drawn a hassock alongside and 
seated herself on it, with one arm rest- 
ing on the arm of the chair. The 
moon was nearly full, and sailing in 
a clear sky, so that its splendid radi- 
ance dimly illuminated the darkened 

"Now, John, I'm a little bit of a girl 
again, and you are my playmate, and 
we are resting after a hard day's play. 
Isn't it so?" she asked. 

"Yes, Belle," I answered, lightly 
stroking her hair. 

"Sometimes I wish I could have 
stayed a little girl always," she said, 

"So do I, Belle, for then we could 
always have stayed playmates. But 
now that you have grown up into a 
beautiful woman, it will have to end, of 
course. You will be getting married 
one of these days" — you see I went at 
the subject courageously and without 
circumlocution — "and I — well, I sup- 
pose I shall have to hunt up another 
little playmate," I finished as lightly 
as I could. 

Belle was silent, gazing out upon 

the moonlit street. I fancied I knei 
of what she was thinking; that sh 
knew, as well as I, that the dear ol 
days were ended, that they could nc 
go on, that she was a woman now, an 
a woman's life was opening before he 

"And Belle," I went on, with a bra^v 
attempt at light-heartedness, "in choo; 
ing your new — 'playmate/ let us ca 
him — would you mind listening to 
few words of advice from your old on 
Trust me they will be spoken wit 
motives as kind and loving as ev< 
prompted human speech." 

Before answering Belle changed h( 
position, taking her arm from my chai 
and clasping both hands about h( 

"I know that whatever you say wi 
be prompted by the kindest motives 
she said, in a low voice ; but I fe 
sure she would quite as lief not ha\ 
me talk upon the subject. But I woul 
not let that deter me. I had made u 
my mind to talk to her about Charli 
and was not to be dissuaded. 

"I may prove a sad old blundere 
Belle," I went on, "and if I make 
botch of it, and hurt you, you mui 
make up your mind beforehand to fo 
give me. It will be because I ai 
stupid and don't understand womei 
and not because I am unkind." 

Belle sat perfectly still, and did nc 
take her eyes from the moonlit stree 
"It has seemed to me, the last fe 
weeks," I continued, "that you haven 
treated Charlie Hunter as kindly I 
you used to. Of course, I mav t 
mistaken, and even if I'm not, you ma 
have reasons of which I know nothin 
that, are sufficient to cause a chang 
But it seems to me that one man's est 
mate of another ought to be of son 
value to a girl who may sometime 
have to choose a husband" — Be! 
made a little movement at this, but I 
sumed her former position and agai 
gazed out at the moonlight — "and wh; 
I would like to say, Belle, is the 
Charlie seems to me like a gooc 
hearted, noble young fellow. I belie\ 
he would make a kind, devoted an 
loving husband. That he is handsom 
you know as well as I. That his pro; 



uects are good, you also know as well 
is I. That he loves you, Belle, is as 
:lear as day to the rest of us, and you 
;annot be blind to the fact. Charlie's 
: ather and mother are delightful people, 
ind they already love you as if you 
vere their daughter. And your father 
md mother, Belle, knowing that they 
nust, sometime, lose you, would, I 
im sure, rather see you married to 
Charlie than to any man they know." 

I happened to glance at Belle's hands 
rlasped about her knee, and I thought 
he soft little things were clenched. 
But moonlight is deceptive and it 
night be I was mistaken. 

"I would not speak about it to you 
it all, Belle," I went on as kindly as 
[ knew how, "if things seemed to be 
^oing now as they seemed to be going 
i few months ago. Then we thought 
hat you cared for Charlie, and some 
lay would make him happy by con- 
tenting to marry him. If you didn't 
ove him, at least there seemed to be 
10 one else that you cared for more. 
-ie had no serious rival in your affec- 
ions, we thought. But now we do 
lot feel so sure. 

"You must know, Belle, that I would 
>e the last one to want to put restraint 
>n your affections — the last to want 
row to marry a man you didn't love; 
>ut what I want to say is, that as be- 
ween Charlie Hunter and Hadley 
brooks, I believe you would be much 
lappier with Charlie. I know nothing 
gainst Mr. Brooks, but I don't like 
urn. It may be quite unwarrantable 
rejudice that I feel, and I certainly 
ope it is that, Belle, if you really have 
earned to care for him — if you care 
or him enough to — " 

"I don't care for him, Mr. Alden." 
belle's voice was low and quiet, but 
t had a note in it that somehow awak- 
ned my pity, and lessened the dismay 
hat her "Mr. Alden," caused me. My 
v-ords must have offended her, for she 
ever^ called me Mr Alden, except 
ometimes in the presence of others, 
began to wish that I had not spoken. 
Meddlers always get into trouble," I 
bought. But what I had done I had 
one for love of Belle, and though she 

might be offended now, later she would 
see it and forgive me. But along with 
the pity and dismay, her words had also 
brought relief. She has said she did 
not care for Brooks; and now she was 
adding: "Perhaps I have seemed to 
care for him sometimes, but if I have 
it has been because — it has been on 
Charlie's account. I knew that Charlie 
cared for me and would tell me so 
at the first opportunity. I didn't want 
— I wasn't ready to — So I have pre- 
tended to like Mr. Brooks' attentions. 
It wasn't fair towards Mr. Brooks, I 
know, but I wanted to gain time, 
and — " She hesitated, and I asked: 

"Do you mean, dear, that you don't 
care for Charlie?" 

"All that you have said of him is 
true," she answered. "I know he is a 
noble fellow, honest and kind-hearted. 
I do like him, but — " 

"But don't love him?" 

Belle was silent. Her behavior had 
puzzled me, but now there came what 
seemed a flash of intelligence to me. 
"If unknown to us you have met some- 
one else, Belle," I said, "someone other 
than Charlie or Mr. Brooks, that you 
- care for, I am sorry that I have urged 
Charlie's suit. Not for the world 
would I have you marry him, if your 
affections have really settled upon an- 

Belle's face was turned away from 
the moonlight now and through the 
gloom I could see that she was gazing 
up at my face with wide eyes. "No," 
I heard her say faintly, and in another 
instant her head was bowed upon her 
lap and the darkened room echoed with 
her sobs. 

"Why, Belle! Why, my poor child, 
what have I done ?" I exclaimed, bending 
over her. "I didn't mean to hurt you, 
dearie. I'm a blind old blunderer, and 
hadn't any business to go talking to my 
little girl about love — an old bachelor 
like me ! Forgive me, Belle, if I have 
hurt you, and forget that I've ever said 
a word on the subject." 

But her frame continued to shake 
with her sobs, and she made no answer, 
I laid my hand on her shoulder, but she 
moved so that it slipped off. At that 



I believe the tears started into my 
eyes. Perhaps I had forfeited my little 
girl's affection with my foolish med- 
dling. I wished fervently enough now 
that I had kept quiet. Puzzled as I 
was at Belle's unexpected behavior I 
felt certain that I must have offended 
her. Why had I been such a dunce? 

Suddenly Belle's head was lifted, and 
she reached out to where my head 
rested on the chair. "Oh, John!" she 
cried. "I must tell you, if it kills me — 
if it makes you hate me. I can't help 
it, John, I—" 

She stopped, and I found myself 
trembling, scarcely knowing why. 

"Oh, John, can't you see ! Can't you 
see!" she cried, and again her head 
went down upon her clasped hands, 
though this time they rested on my 

"Belle!" I cried. 

Then I put my arms around her and 
drew her up until she was looking at 
me. Our faces were very close to each 
other, and it was not so dark but that 
I could read her face and the mine. 
"Belle!" I repeated. "Is it true?" 

Through tears and blushes then 
broke a wonderful smile — a smile o 
infinite beauty and infinite love. 

"I couldn't help it," she said simply 
almost as a child might, contessing < 
naughty act. 

"Darling!" I cried, drawing her clos< 
— very close — and from where her fac< 
was hidden against my breast a deai 
voice asked: "And don't you hate m< 
for telling you, John?" 

"Hate you, sweet ! I never lovec 
any one in all my life as I love yoi 
this moment, Belle ! You've made m< 
happier than I ever believed it possibh 
I could be." 

"And you won't try to find anothei 
playmate, John?" Her face was raisec 
again, and she was looking at me witl 
happy and smiling eyes. 

"No, sweetheart mine, I'm only toe 
happy to keep the dear, dear, old one.' 

And to-day, when I could tear m) 
thoughts for a moment from Belle her 
self, I've been wondering it it wai 
merely a coincidence, or something 
more, that I bear the name of Johr 



There was love enough twixt you and me 

To last us a lifetime through 
Had we only used it carefully 

As cunninger folk might do. 

But we tossed it there, we tossed it here, 

With never a thought of wrong; 
We paid the piper in gold, my dear, 

For every note of his song. 

How could it be that our store increased? 

Yet little we guessed, indeed, 
When we squandered all on a single feast 

Of the gaunt to-morrow's need. 

Had we only hoarded in craft and fear, 

As cunninger folk might do, 
There were more than these broken meats, my dear, 

To last us a lifetime through. 

Napoleonic Memoirs— I. 


MEMOIRS are not the most 
trustworthy of historical docu- 
ments. They are commonly 
written in old age, long after the 
events referred to have taken place, 
and it is one of the peculiarities 
of our later years that the events of 
our boyhood or girlhood reappear 
much more distinctly to us than those 
of mature life. Our imaginations also 
play strange tricks with us at times. I 
have myself sometimes supposed that 
I remembered an extract from a cer- 
tain author with perfect distinctness, 
but, on looking it up, I found the word- 
ing of it wholly different from what I 
supposed. Memoirs are also more 
likely to be prejudiced than any other 
form of composition, on account of the 
nearness of the author to his or her sub- 
ject. The remembrance of past favors, 
as well as grievances, trifling affairs in 
themselves, which otherwise he would 
not think of mentioning, enter into his 
mind and more or less influence his 
judgment. Recently published Ameri- 
can memoirs like Conway's and 
White's are transparent enough with 
the predilections of the writer — Con- 
way's partiality for his own section of 
the country, and White's feeling of 
obligation to those to whom he owed 
his foreign appointments. A mis- 
chievous slander, played by a designing 
person or an intentionally sincere one; 
like the horrid calumny of Theodora, 
which was accepted by Gibbon, may 
impose upon the public for centuries. 

A reveiew of the various memoirs 
concerning Napoleon would constitute 
a large volume by itself. In fact, 
Rosebery's recent work on Napoleon 
is little more than a discussion of 
the records preserved by Napoleon's 
friends, who shared his imprisonment 

at St. Helena. It is a fair and candid 
work for an Englishman, and a marked 
contrast to the misrepresentations of 
Macaulay, Green, and Seeley; but it 
has limitations of its own which are 
worth a passing notice. Of these, the 
two most important are what he con- 
siders Napoleon's lack of judgment in 
his choice of men, and the peculiarity 
of his religious opinions. 

In regard to the first, I think it 
might almost be said that no other man 
has recognized merit so quickly and 
rewarded it so well as Napoleon did. 
It was largely to this that he owed his 
earlier successes. It would be difficult 
to prove or disprove Rosebery's asser- 
tion. No one can tell what there may 
be in the ocean ; but what have we ever 
heard of Wellington's or Blucher's subor- 
dinates? Murat, Meg, Soult, Lannes, 
Massena, and Victor are celebrated 
names in the history of those times; 
and if they did not always accomplish 
what Napoleon hoped of them when 
they were fighting against the odds of 
two or three to one, the fact is not 

Massena was the only one of Na- 
poleon's marshals, however, to whom 
military critics have given the credit 
of being a great commander; and when 
we examine Napoleon's campaigns, we 
find that it was always to Massena that 
he intrusted the most difficult commis- 
sions. He was already an invalid in his 
Spanish campaign, but Massena in his 
prime was probably a match for either 
Blucher or Wellington. His defeat of 
Swanoff at Zunich was a masterpiece 
of military skill. 

In regard to Napoleon's religion or 
philosophy, Rosebery goes a long way 
off. He believes him to have been a 
Mohamedan and a materialist The 


Napoleon, BESSiERES, BerTrand, Murat 



terms are contradictory. Mohamedism 
is a sensual religion, but sensuality and 
materialism are not convertible terms, 
and for absolute faith in the divine 
will there are none like the followers of 
Islam. Materialism in philosophy in- 
variably leads to skepticism, and a 
skeptical Mohamedan is as rare as a 
white blackbird. On the other side, 
sensuality was hateful to Napoleon, as 
everything was which tended to mental 
or physical weakness. His creed was 
the gospel of strength. He courted the 
favor of the Sheiks in Egypt as Alex- 
ander did that of the Persian Magi, in 
order to obtain political, as well as 
military, control of the country; but 
there is no trustworthy evidence that, 
he went so far in this as to compromise 
himself as a Christian. What we 
gather from the various comments on 
religious subjects which have been re- 
ported of Napoleon, is that he had no 
very definite religious creed, though a 
very decided religious faith. He makes 
some such statement of himself some- 
where, and it is a very fine one. Such 
was the mental attitude of Plato, 
Shakespeare, Goethe, and many others, 
and it testifies to the depth and sin- 
cerity of Napoleon's moral nature. As 
Goethe states it in Faust: "Who can 
say I know Him, who can say I know 
Him not?" 

He was too much of an idealist to be 
called a materialist; too practical, per- 
haps, to be called an idealist. You 
might call him an idealist-utilatarian. 
His mind always preserved an equit- 
able balance between theory and prac- 
tice. He read little philosophy and had 
a particular horror of what he called 
idealoges — doctrines such as Fourier 
and John Stuart Mill. 

Lord Rosebery, however, admits 
what Metterich denies, that Napoleon 
was a true statesman; that the earlier 
period of his government might be 
termed ideal ; that he was by nature of 
a kindly disposition and wished to do 
what was right ; that he preserved the 
fruits of the French revolution to pos- 
terity; that he was the greatest of gen- 
erals, and one of the greatest of law 
givers; that his wars were mainly 

forced upon him ; and that he had only 
one fair opportunity of makingpeace (in 
the summer of 1806), which "either his 
suspicion or his madness" prevented 
him from seizing. 

It is generally supposed that the 
death of Charles James Fox prevented 
Napoleon from making peace with 
England in 1806, and Napoleon inti- 
mates this in a letter to his brother, Jo- 
seph, written at the time; but it is not 
probable that an enduring peace could 
have been consummated, so long as 
Holland, Belgium, and France re- 
mained under the same government. 

In regard to the numerous records of 
Napoleon's mournful life at St. Helena 
— the fifth act of the tragedy — Rose- 
bery considers General Gourgand's 
diary to be the most veracious and 
trustworthy, on the ground that 
it was evidently not intended for pub- 
lication. This, like the others, cannot 
be proved, though he assigns plausible 
reasons which have their value; but it 
seems like a narrow basis on which to 
form a judgment. In such cases the 
character of the individual should al- 
ways be taken into account. General 
Gourgand was one of the bravest and 
most devoted of Napoleon's personal 
adherents, but his portrait, as well as 
his diary, indicates a man of not more 
than mediocre intellect. He served 
the Emperor as a sort of staff detective. 
He discovered the mines which were 
intended to blow up Napoleon at Mos- 
cow, and killed a dragoon who was 
attacking Napoleon at the battle of 
Brienne. Once, when the Emperor's 
party were out walking at St Helena, 
they were threatened by a drunken or 
insane British soldier, who leveled his 
musket and ordered them to halt. Na- 
poleon merely said : "General Gour- 
gand, take charge of that fellow." 
Gourgand made a sort of flank move- 
ment, then suddenly darted on the 
soldier and wrested his weapon from 
him in a twinkling. 

This, however, would seem to have 
been the limit of his capacity. Na- 
poleon surely would not have approved 
of the statement which Gourgand pub- 
lished concerning the battle of Water- 



Napoi/eon receiving the Austrian Embassy 

loo, that so offended the British 
ministry. He was a forcible man, but 
narrow and unimaginative. Napoleon 
could not have conversed with him on 
large and important subjects as he did 
with Montholon and Las Cases, and 
we consequently find that Gourgand's 
reports are meager and not particularly 
interesting. The most conspicuous fact 
in his diary is Napoleon's continual 
effort to cheer and encourage the 
s-pirit of his companions. Gourgand 
was still in the prime of life, and when 
other methods failed, Napoleon held 
forth to him the prospect of a favorable 
matrimonial alliance — which came to 
pass some ten years later by Gour- 
gand's marriage to a French countess. 
Lord Rosebery has examined the 
evidence in Surgeon O'Meara's case 
against Sir Hudson Lowe and finds 
much of it quite untrustworthy. This 
need not, however, make any serious 
difference to us. The civilized world 
has long ago condemned Sir Hudson 
Low, nor has he ever found ah apolo- 
gist for his absurdly spiteful behavior, 
and nobody cares to hear any further 

discussion in regard to him. Rosebery 
himself admits that the general mass 
of evidence is decidedly against Sir 
Hudson. What still makes the "voice 
from St. Helena" interesting are Na- 
poleon's commentaries on his battles 
and other important matters which it 
contains. O'Meara could not have in- 
vented these, and they agree remark- 
ably well with the statements made 
afterwards by Montholon and Las Cases. 
O'Meara has this advantage over the 
others, that being unacquainted with 
the history of those times, he could ask 
Napoleon more direct and pertinent 
questions than they very well could, 
from fear of inquiring about matters 
which they might ^>e supposed to know 

The best of the Napoleonic memoirs 
are those by Las Cases and Savary, 
both men of superior character and in- 
telligence. Savary, the Duke of Rov- 
igo, was a brave soldier, and brave men 
are much more likely to be truthful 
than those whose courage has never 
been tested ; witness Grant and Sher- 
man. Savary did not prove an able 




ommander, but Napoleon made use 
f him to discover the movements of 
ie Russians at Friedland, and to open 
ommunication with Davout at Eck- 
luhl — at the risk of a dozen lives. His 
ccounts of the battle of Austerlitz, 
'riedland, and Eckmuhl, although in- 
omplete, have the vitality of an eye- 
witness. After Fouches'' retirement 
lapoleon made Savary superintendent 
f police. He followed the Emperor to 
England, but he was proscribed bv 
,ouis XVIII. and the British govern- 
lent imprisoned him at Gibraltar, 

when he afterwards escaped to Asia 
Minor and returned to France after 
twelve years of exile. His life was one 
of the most adventurous and interest- 
ing of that stirring period. 

He was a man of astute intelligence, 
and his writing has much of the frank- 
ness, directness, and perspicacity of 
Napoleon's own. If he appears some- 
what too favorable to Napoleon, it is 
not in what he says, but in what he 
leaves unsaid. His points are well 
taken, and his remarks on the condem- 
nation and execution of the Due d'Eng- 



hien are the most judicious of any 
among his contemporaries. 

Count Las Cases belonged to the old 
French nobility, and his writing has 
the tone of high cultivation. He fled 
to England at the outset of the reign 
of terror and supported himself there 
by the publication of what he called an 
atlas, but which would seem to have 
been an epitome of the history of na- 
tions.* He returned to France by favor 
of Napoleon's amnesty, and soon be- 
came so convinced of the good inten- 
tions of the Emperor that he accepted 
a position in the government Na- 
poleon, however, saw or knew little of 
him, until after the battle of Waterloo 
he was surprised by Las Cases's deter- 
mination to acompany him in exile. 

Las Cases was sent away from 
Helena by Sir Hudson for sec 
though perfectly honorable commu 
cation with Napoleon's friends 
Europe. Sir Hudson made a mista 
and attempted to rectify it by havi 
Las Cases detained at the Cape 
Good Hope for some six months, d 
ing which time he suffered sever- 
from the vindictiveness of the Brit 
officials there. He was not permiti 
to land in England for fear of the 
formation he might circulate conce 
ing the ill-treatment of Napoleon, 1 
he was hustled over to Rhenish Pr 
sia, where he suffered similar gri 
ances to those at the Cape. His be 
bears every mark of an honorable n 
and a conscientious writer. 

* He afterwards republished this in Paris under a nom de plume, but the French Academy frowned up< 
Eas Cases reports that one of the Academicians told him that "they did not believe in literary work wl 
emanated from the nobility." This was the way in wh'ch they afterwards treated Dr. Morton, the discover* 
etherization. ■ . 

{To be continued) 

Napoleon and the Grenadiers 

Glen Noble* 



IMPLEMENTING these condi- 
tions, Glen went on to say that 
there was food for deep re- 
flection in the fact that the strictly 
native population, which complacent 
n I theorists hold -up to us as able to 
"assimilate" unrestricted immigration, 
is sadly decreasing instead of in- 
J creasing, in all the older sections of 
B the country. In New England, for 
instance, he cited by substantiating 
figures, there are actually one and a 
half more deaths than births among 
every thousand people whose parents 

I ire native-born. "In our own State," 
jlen exclaimed, pausing a moment to 
-' et the significance of his words sink 
lome, "the conditions are even worse, 
:he deaths exceeding the births by ten 
,irid four-tenths among each thousand 
lative-born Americans. The families 
)f foreign parentage, on the contrary, 
show an excess of births over deaths of 
ifty-eight and a half, while in the old 
Bay State the excess is almost as great 
—forty-five and six-tenths. In short, 
he last census shows that in many 
ocalities the number of native-born 
Americans is either standing still or 
ictually decreasing, while the people 
vhose parents are foreigners are in- 
reasing tremendously. 

"And yet," Glen continued, raising 
lis finger at the red-faced Speaker in 
:he chair, "we go on playing politics 
or petty, transient gain and give no 
iee;d to the trend of these momentous 

gits, which, if unchecked, as surely 
>flt*ll the extermination of the old 

ck American and his free institu- 
ions and conquest of our Country as 
; he unchecked coming of the Anglo- 
Saxon to these shores spelt the elimina- 

tion of the American Indian and the 
conquest by numbers of his once proud 
domains. If, Sir," he exclaimed, "we 
of the lineage of Washington, of 
Stark, of Sullivan and Lafayette, are 
prepared to follow the Indian into 
virtual bondage and ultimate extinc- 
tion, then, Sir, we can in no wise hasten 
the day more surely than by putting 
into control those who have no heed 
for the future of the country, but who 
content their small souls with gratify- 
ing their selfish lusts while the ship of 
State holds her wayward course to- 
ward the ominous clouds on the rock- 
fretted near horizon." 

Amid the burst of spontaneous ap- 
plause, in which even some of the ad- 
ministrative members were compelled 
by the tense excitement to join, a 
uniformed messenger sped down the 
aisle and handed a yellow envelope to 
one of the group which sat closely 
round Glen's towering young form, on 
chairs and the nearby desks of other 

At a nod from Glen he opened the 
telegram and, hastily reading the con- 
tents, his face grew grave and red- 
dened. "Impossible to reach Judge be- 
fore night," he read in a whisper, over 
Glen's shoulder. "Last train five- 
thirty. Let damn rascals hang them- 
selves; outraged people will attend 
obsequies. Back on special. Terrill." 

Glen made no move or sound to in- 
dicate the depths of his disappoint- 
ment. Just pausing sufficiently long to 
gain a full knowledge of the message, 
he went on, in a lowered tone, still ad- 
dressing the Speaker: 

"And so, Sir, with a firm conviction 
that my act is right, I adhere to what 

C*nhMviarhi rnrt£ hit lA/i+t e/n nut J-fnll 


■ft/c Y*?0 / yvu>/l 




I have so often stated, and pronounce 
again, if it will in any measure clear 
the atmosphere, that neither on the 
first ballot nor on any subsequent one 
may you expect me to vote for the 
nominee of your caucus if permitted 
to retain my seat in this assembly. If, 
because of that decision, I am marked 
for punishment at your hands, then, 
with a free conscience and no mis- 
givings I await your pleasure." 

An almost painful silence filled the 
chamber as Glen sat down. His 
hearers were too profoundly moved 
for present outburst of applause or 
temper. Presently one member, more 
conscious of the presence of the mas- 
ter mind behind the scenes than others, 
moved the previous question. 

Then the storm broke out anew, and 
while members of the opposition clam- 
ored for opportunity to speak upon the 
motion and the gallery shook with the 
tumult of contending voices, the 
Speaker, rising, put the original motion 
in a voice unheard by all save the re- 
cording clerk and announced it carried. 

What might have occurred, when the 
fact went home to the understanding 
of the opposition and of the gallery 
crowd, that the crowning act of grave 
injustice had been put through by 
form of legal process, it would be dif- 
ficult to hazard, but just as the 
Speaker's gavel fell, Glen, who was 
watching it, slowly rose, his pale face 
set, and gathered the few papers on 
his desk together. 

His slow, methodical, unimpassioned 
bearing, and tall young form as it rose 
above the heads of his friends about 
him, seemed to catch and hold the ab- 
sorbed attention of the gathering, and 
as he turned and moved down the 
aisle the tumult ceased, and an almost 
complete silence lent its weight to the 
closing scene of this impressive drama. 

Men bowed and smiled to him, and 
women in the gallery waved their 
dainty handkerchiefs, but he seemed 
not to note the interest centered on 
him until he had reached the rear of the 
dense-thronged chamber. Then he 
looked up at the animate scene above 
him, and, realizing that all this was 

meant for him, he smiled and bowe( 
slightly in recognition. 

But then, of a sudden, as he agaii 
moved on, his great, young form erec 
and graceful, his face changed, and ; 
glow of red mantled to his temples 

For, amid the hundred faces ben 
down upon him from above, his quid 
vision had picked out one — but one 
the fair, suffused face of Constanc* 

He passed out of the high-archec 
door, and as he disappeared the tens( 
strain behind him broke and such i 
storm of appreciation for him rollec 
from gallery to floor and floor to dome 
as shook the vast chamber to its foun- 

With a few friends he escaped th< 
throng of wrought-up people whe 
surged down the stairways, and b) 
a side entrance gained the street anc 
hurried to his apartment in the old- 
time hostelry. There he was joinec 
by others who had stood by him ir 
the crisis, and later in the afternoor 
the Major came, towering like an angr) 
thunder cloud, and, while Glen rested 
insisted on hearing every scrap of whai 
had been said during the afternoor 
repeated by those who had been pres 

It suffices for our story to relate, thai 
that evening, in the Major's chamber 
there was formed an organizatior 
known as the Constitution Party Club 
with the Major as its first president anc 
Glen as its secretary and treasurer 
which was to have a potent bearing or 
future politics. That information, and 
the kindred statement, that, as this 
factor in local civic life was being born 
the Legislature met in grand com- 
mittee and carried out the bargain oi 
its Master, by electing the Honorable 
Theopilus I. Burland to the high office 
which he had contracted for, musl 
close the portal leading further on 
down the labyrinthic way of practical 
politics, into which our little romans 
for a brief time inadvertently wat* 
dered. rw 

When Glen Noble arrived home at 
Stonestead station, he came little like a 
discredited hero. 



A delegation of personal and political 
friends was there to greet him, headed 
by good Doctor Gey, who beamed his 
delight on the brown-haired, broad- 
shouldered young man whom he had 
helped into the world and whom he had 
solicitously watched through all his 
vicissitudes and triumphs up to the 
present hour. 

He made a characteristic little speech 
of welcome, in the name of his fellow- 
townsmen, to which Glen was obliged 
to briefly reply, and then the hearty, 
good-natured crowd surrounding the 
little, rambling railroad station cheered 
itself hoarse, and with crude but honest 
acclaim vowed allegiance to "their 
candidate," pledging him that if the 
courts did not reinstate him in his 
seat they would elect him two years 
hence to a higher office by such an 
overwhelming majority that no return- 
ing board would dare to count him out. 

Of course, such spontaneous, sin^ 
cere outpouring of loyalty and sym- 
pathy was pleasing to Glen. Even an 
older face than his might have been 
excused the blush of pleasure that 
mantled his handsome, manly young 
features and the moisture of gratitude 
that for a moment dimmed his deep 
brown eyes. 

He went with his friends to the vil- 
lage hostelry, where dinner was pre- 
pared, and after a little impromptu 
speechmaking over coffee and cigars 
later, he held an informal, old-friend 
reception in the hotel parlor. 

But when it was all over, and the 
last formal word in heart-felt greeting 
had been said, Glen firmly declined the 
offer of friends to see him home, and 
started out afoot, as in days gone by, 
by highway and across lots for the 

Not that he did not appreciate fully 
the sincere testaments of good will 
and honor shown him, for his heart 
was swollen with appreciation and 
thanks. But while his whole being re- 
sponded gratefully to such friendli- 
ness, his thoughts were with another, 
and she an absent one. 

How true it is, as someone, some- 
where, has so well said, that a sliver 

in one's little finger is of more concern 
than a famine in India. 

To Glen, this mild, sunshiny winter's 
day, plodding along over the half- 
bared fields toward his welcoming 
home, it mattered little for the mo- 
ment that the public prints far out- 
side the State's domains were ap- 
plauding him as a hero and as a 
martyr in humanity's loftiest cause. 
His mind was not at all concerned with 
the prominence he had attained nor 
with canvassing the future which was 
destined to bring him further honors. 

The applause and turmoil was left 
behind, forgotten, and with head bent 
and hand thrust in his coat pockets he 
plodded on, unfeeling the buoyant 
pulse of the glorious upland air, un- 
conscious of the golden sunlight on 
the dappled landscape, the glint of 
bird wings, or the perfumed scent of 
the moist turf, that ordinarily he 
would have inhaled with deep, luxuri- 
ant breaths. He heard nothing and 
saw only the fair face of the girl he 
loved, bent to him from the crowded 
gallery with its smile. 

The following morning early, after 
the sausages and fried pudding with 
maple syrup had been disposed of, 
Glen backed into his great coat, which 
one of the men held for him, and after 
giving some directions as to the work 
of the day, he drove off toward Ludlow. 

He arrived at Major Terrill's office 
just after the old lawyer had settled 
down into his chair to read the morn- 
ing paper. 

"Well, well," exclaimed the Major, 
sticking out a welcoming hand to be 
shaken as Glen stamped in. "What's 
the early bird out for this morning?" 

Glen said he had some business in 
town to attend to, and thought he 
would drop in in passing. 

"Glad you did, glad you did," re- 
joined the Major, carefully poising his 
glasses on the assertive ridge of nose 
that he held up to receive them. 
"Indeed, I wanted to see you specially 
about that brief I'm to file in the re- 
count matter. Wait till I see what's 
in the paper and we'll talk it over." 

Glen threw his overcoat across the 



table and busied himself with a file 
of Boston papers until the Major laid 
down the newspaper. 

"Oh, by the way, Major, have you 
a pretty good telephone service here?" 
Glen asked, nodding toward a tele- 
phone on the nearby wall. 

"Tolerable, tolerable," said the Ma- 
jor, glaring over the rubber rims of 
his glasses at the instrument, as 
though that was the first time he had 
noticed such an innovation in his office. 

"But as to that brief, Glen," he con- 
tinued, withdrawing his gaze from the 
telephone after scrutinizing it and 
finding it uninteresting. 

"Copper circuit?" asked Glen. 

"Ha?" said the Major, jerkily remov- 
ing his glasses and looking keenly at 
his visitor, who still stood contemplat- 
ing the instrument. 

"Have a copper, out-of-town wire?" 
Glen supplemented, still viewing the 
telephone critically. "I've heard they're 
the best." 

"I'd know," said the Major, after a 
pause. "I know they charge like rob- 
bery for it. It ought to be something 
extra fine for the money. But as I was 
saying — " 

"Fairly private service?" Glen inter- 
rupted, still interrogatively. 

The Major snorted. "You thinking 
of going into the telephone business?" 
he asked, sarcastically. 

"If you're going down to get your 
mail, Major, I'll wait for you," said 
Glen, slowly. "While you're gone I 
may like to use your telephone, if 
you've no objection." 

The old lawyer watched his visitor 
as Glen stepped to the telephone and 
interestedly viewed the instrument in 
all its details. The expression on the 
old lawyer's countenance indicated a 
perplexed doubt whether his young 
friend was slightly demented or if he 
himself was wavering mentally. 

"I — " He was going to explode with 
a strong exclamation to the effect that 
he had no intention of going to the 
post-office for an hour yet. But then he 
paused and looked keenly at the 
square-cut shoulders of the young 
man, who, by now, was deeply ab- 

sorbed in the uninteresting titles of the 
calf-bound volumes which were mar- 
shaled in even array on the shelves. 

The kindly old practitioner was far 
from being dense. "I guess I will go 
down to the office," he said. "May 
be something there from the court that 
I may want to see about." 

He pulled on the old fur cap with its 
floppy ear-laps that had been lying, 
top down, on the table with a pair of 
dark-stained buckskin gloves thrown 
into its frayed, silk interior. In back, 
the fur of that familiar old cap was 
all worn off to the shiny hide, from con- 
tact with up-turned coat collar, and 
when the Major put it on he tugged 
it down so on the back of his head 
that only a little frings of iron-grey 
hair showed below it. 

Glen listened to the slow, heavy 
thump of the old man's rubber-shod 
feet on the stairs, until the outer door 
banged shut, a quizzical smile on his 
face, half self-accusing for playing such 
a shabby trick on his old friend. Then 
he quickly took the telephone book 
from its hook and ran a finger down 
the printed pages until he came to the 
"W's." Then he rang up central. 

"I want seven, eleven, two — the 
Seminary in Westborough," he said, 
when "central" answered. "This is 
number eight forty-seven, Ludlow. I 
want to talk with Miss Constance Car- 
ter. You'll call me? All right!" 

He hung up the receiver and went 
and gazed out the window, an odd, 
anxious expression on his face. 

When the telephone jingled he 
crossed the wide room in three strides. 

"Hullo? Hullo?" a gentle inquiring 
voice was saying in his ear: a voice 
now rounded and softened to full ma- 
turity, but which he recognized in- 
stantly, and oh, so well. 

"Hullo !" he rejoined into the mouth- 
piece. "Hullo, Constance! Is it you?" 

"Why, Glen. Is that you?" asked 
the voice in pleased surprise, and after 
the idiomatic manner of repetition and 
query peculiar to conversation over the 

"Yes," Glen answered. "I'm down 
at Ludlow. I'm in the Major's office." 



"Oh, is that so?" replied the voice 
at Glen's ear, still adhering to the 
somewhat vacant colloquialism of 
telephony. "Is the Major there?" 

"No." Glen shifted to the other foot 
and smiled at the blank wall. "He — 
he had to go down to the post-office." 

"Oh! I wish he were there. I'd 
like to hear his dear voice." 

"Say, Constance !" 



"Yes, Glen." 

"Say. Would it be proper for me 
to come over to Westborough? I've 
something very special I'd like to see 
you about." 

"Me, Glen?" 


"Why, Glen. I'd like so much to see 
somebody from home, but, you know, 
it's against the rules for us to receive 
gentlemen company here. Would you 
come with the Doctor and Aunt Clara?" 

"No," exclaimed Glen, and little as 
(the word is it made the instrument 
(rattle. "I'm coming alone." 
j A musical little laugh rang over the 
wire. "Oh, my. Glen! That would 
never do." 

"Well, rules or no rules, I'm com- 
ing, unless — " 

"Unless what?" 



"Say! If I don't come will you 
romise me something?" 

"Why, Glen!" A pause. "How 
Ireadful mysterious you are this morn- 
ng. Does politics make people always 
o mysterious?" 


"What, Sir?" 

"Will you promise?" 

A little, amused laugh, half doubtful, 
alf confused. 

"Promise what? — you bother." 


" Yes? " 

"Say, Constance; it really isn't much. 

f I'll agree not to disrupt your old 

:hool by coming over to see you, will 

|ou promise me one little thing?" 

"Is that a threat?" 


"Well-1-1." Long drawn out. "You 
know, Sir, I never was good at resist- 
ing a dare." 

"Dish this phone ! I can't say half 
what I mean standing here to a hole 
in the wall." 

"Do what to it, did you say, Sir?" 

"Dish it." 


"Say," from Glen. 


"Say, Kit!" 


"Say! When you coming home?" 

"Easter, Glen." 

"Easter? When's Easter?" 

"Why, Glen! Easter's the six- 

"Sixteenth? Say!" 


"Say, Kit ! If I won't come over and 
bother you, will you promise me to — 
to — Oh, confound this way of talk- 
ing, anyway ! Constance !" 

"Yes, Glen." 

"Are you there?" 

"Yes." A little smothered laugh. 

"Say! If I don't come over, will 
you promise me all of Easter even- 
ing to ourselves? I — I want to see 
you about something." 

A long pause. 


"Yes, Glen— that is," hurriedly, "I 
mean I'm listening." 

"But do you promise?" 

"Why, Glen." A pause. "You see, 
the Robbins girls and I were going — " 

"Well, don't. Tell 'em you can't— 
that you've got another engagement. 
Tell 'em anything. Only promise." 

"Why, Glen— I— I— O, Glen!" 

"Yes?" Anxiously. 

"Miss Taft, the matron, is coming. 
I'll have to say good-by." 

Commotion at Glen's end of the line. 

"Constance !" earnestly. "Please 
promise," oh, so pleadingly. 

"Is it so important, Glen? Will it 
please you?" 

"So very much." 

"Well," a pause. "I don't begin to 
understand you now you've grown up 
and got to be such a great man. But 
if it really is necessary." A pause. 



"Well." A noise of some one trying 
to get further into the receiver at 
Glen's end. 

"Well — if it really makes any dif- 
ference — Yes, I promise?" 

"Thank you so much, little one," and 
Glen settled back onto his heels. "I'll 
explain everyhing when you're home. 
Good-by, if I must." 

"Good-by, Glen. Remember me to 
all the folks and to the Major." 

"Until Easter." 

"Until Easter." 


Glen heard the receiver being hung 
up slowly, and as he turned away, a 
bright light in his own brown eyes, he 
heard, on the outer stairs, the slow 
skuff of the Major's feet as the old 
lawyer slowly ascended. 

When he came in Glen was deeply 
absorbed in a bulky, black volume 
which had been nearest to his hand at 
the moment of the opening of the door. 
The Major tugged off his cap and 
tossed it on the table, and drew off his 
gloves slowly, eyeing Glen narrowly. 

"That government report on inter- 
state commerce you've got there, 
young man, ain't very recent," he said, 
slowly, and Glen's eyelids fluttered. 
"If you want something real interest- 
ing, I just got the department's latest 
treatise on Constitutional Limitation, 
that ought to make nice reading. 

Glen looked up laughing, but the 
Major was already seated, adjusting 
his glasses astride his nose and paw- 
ing over the papers on his desk, while 
he hummed a bar or two of an old love 

Finally, after he had read through 
several legal-looking forms and signed 
a letter or two, he pushed back his 
swiveled chair and put one pudgy knee 
up against the edge of the desk, re- 
moving his glasses and closing and 
squinting his eyes as he did so. 

"About the brief," he said, as though 
he had not from the first been inter- 
rupted in the subject, and Glen closed 
the dry-as-dust government report and 
took a seat by his friend, who had been 
the boyhood friend of his father. 

For some time they discussed their 

affairs, politics, farming, etcetera. 
Finally Glen got up to go, promising 
to be in town again the following week, 
on request of the Major. Lunging into 
his great coat and pulling on a pair 
of fur gloves, he said, "good-by." He 
was just closing the door when the 
Major said: 

"Oh, a-Glen! If there's" anything 
about that old telephone that you don't 
like, I'll have it remedied." 

Glen paused on the threshold. A 
broad back was all he could see of the 
Major, but there was a suspicious agi- 
tation of the stooped shoulders. He 
was about to make answer, when the 
Major interrupted him. 

"That's all right, Farmer," he said, 
his face buried in a law book. "Come 
in any time. Post-office hours from 
ten to ten-thirty." 

Glen closed the door with a bang, 
and passing by the window that opened 
from the office onto the dusky hallway 
he rapped on the grimy window-pane, 
then clattered down the stairs and 
passed out into the winter's sunshine. 


Candlemas day that year dawned 
leaden, with banks of clouds curtain- 
ing the eastern skies ard all the fore- 
noon a hushed expectancy brooded 
over the up-country. But at noon the 
sun broke through and flooded the 
white world with radiant splendor. 
Then again the mist-veils were drawn 
and the afternoon passed into history 
a gray, shadowless phantom. Whereby 
it came to pass that prophets that sea-; 
son were disconcerted. 

Whether the ground hog had or had 
not seen his shadow was a mooter 
question one of the village taverrj 
debating club spent several session*) 
over, but which was finally left unde-j 

But the antis finally had the weighi 

of evidence on their side, for the spring 
that year was early. 

March, the mad month of strange 
erratic tendencies, both came and wen 
the lamb; the lion only roaring once 



for a brief night and day, about the 
middle of it. 

Then came the south wind, kissing 
back to laughter the long mute moun- 
tain rills, and calling, whisperingly, the 
dead to rise. Soon the keen eyes of 
country folks began to notice the 
swelling of the buds, and up the south- 
ward slopes Spring came apace, her- 
alded by first the robin, then the 
bluebird, and then other songsters of 
her merry train. 

Days passed — pensive, yet glad- 
some; quickening, yet languorous — 
with blue skies just dimly veiled along 
the far horizon by fleecy mists and sun- 
shine unalloyed from sun to sun. 

Sheep-bells started forth again their 
tinkling sounds from slanting fields 
where the heavy coverlets of winter 
were already gone, leaving the well- 
protected verdure succulent and green. 

Crows, black pirates of the air, came 
from the sheltering pinewoods and set- 
tled on field and fence posts, gossiping 
shrilly that seed-time was near at hand. 
Like ancient signal columns from 
mount to mount, the smoke coiled up- 
ward in the still air from heaps of 
rubbish burned by forehanded farmers 
clearing the land of useless stubble, or 
from a smouldering stump ; and afar, 
at intervals, deep detonations rumbled 
from where new land was being cleared 
with explosives for the coming of the 

Spring comes apace up here amid 
the northern hills and at her advent 
the quest of the farmer is a busy one. 
The little legs of the little souls who 
prate of the life monotonous would 
have felt a tired ache had they followed 
Glen about his duties these golden 
days, and that, too, alack, without the 
splendid recompense of conscious 
glory in such tire. 

About the time the jaded woman of 
the town, after her winter's round of 
artificial gaieties, puts off her sables, 
the pussy pillow in the country dons 
its little furs and thereby strikes the 
hour for action. 

One day, it was along in April, Mrs. 
Marsh had been up to the Grey place 
all the afternoon. Work on the farm 

had been imperative and Glen had not 
found opportunity for his usual visits, 
but Mrs. Marsh had been to see Aunt 
Kate quite frequently. She remarked at 
the tea table that she had a delightful 
visit, for a dressmaker had come up 
from the village and was engaged in 
making a dress, "an elegant creation," 
for Constance; and the three women 
had, in consequence, been in their 

It was to be a blue silk, Mrs. Marsh 
said, but the four men about the table, 
Glen, Mr. Marsh, and the two farm 
"boys," were enthused to no comment. 
Glen was cogitating the suggested 
picture of a brown-haired, bright-eyed 
girl in a blue gown contemplatively, 
and thought that the presentiment was 
good, but the other three men again 
took up the discussion of the respective 
merits of centrifugal vs. gravity cream 
separators, which had been under dis- 
cussion before Mrs. Marsh spoke. 

In the next pause the good house- 
keeper ventured the surmise, come at 
after a lengthy comparing of views by 
herself, the dressmaker, and Aunt Kate 
during the afternoon, that it was going 
to be some kind of a wedding gown, 
and Glen dropped his fork and the girl 
in blue seemed to fade away into the 
distance, smiling sadly as she went. 

"Why?" Glen asked, somewhat ex- 
plosively, and was glad the next instant 
that there was such a thing as cream 
separators to absorb other men's 

Well, Mrs. Marsh had no real foun- 
dation for her belief, but when the 
dressmaker had been over to Westbor- 
ough to consult Constance it had been 
plates of wedding gowns that had been 
called for, and then, too, the dres* now 
under construction was to have a train, 
something that no ordinary dress had. 
Then there were other circumstances, 
most of them inexplicable to the male 
mind. The dress was not for the school 
wear, that was certain, for it was to 
be done only the second week in June, 
after commencement, and at the time 
when Constance herself was expected 
home after graduating. 

Glen not only lost interest in the 



wonderful dress, after a while, but in 
his supper also, and excused himself 
and got up and went out on to the 

The early twilight had come and 
above the last crimson streak across 
the western sky the quiet heavens were 
purple, set here and there with pal- 
pitating stars, like headland lights on a 
darkened sea. 

Glen thrust his clenched hands in the 
sagged pockets of his rough tweed 
jacket and went and leaned against the 
trellis of the porch, looking off south- 
ward over the dimming valley. A bell, 
for Thursday evening prayer service, 
sounded faint from the village, coming 
teeteringly on the gentle breeze: here 
and there the lights of homes flashed 
forth, gleaming yellow, like a constella- 
tion fallen down from the serene sky 
above, and then the late moon poked 
her prow above the distant black- 
shaped mountains and launched herself 
on the placid sea of night. 

But of these scenes and sounds the 
tall silhouetted figure on the veranda 
took no evident note, and the call of 
the men to the cattle for the night, the 
flashing of a lantern down the lane, and 
the clamor of Lad, the pup, wheedling 
the sheep from the nearby pasture into 
the fold, all of which should have called 
him from his reverie passed unnoticed. 

The cool of the spring night 
strengthened, but Glen did not feel it. 
Only shifting his weight now and again 
from one rough-shod foot to the other, 
he continued leaning against the vine- 
clad support, his unheeding eyes roving 
from light to light and down the long, 
pensive shadows of the woods. 

Perplexed by his peculiar position, 
beset and handicapped by untoward 
circumstances, he had got himself into 
that frame of mind where the unin- 
tended shaft of doubt, let loose by Mrs. 
Marsh's chance remark, penetrated his 
armor of patient faith, touching him 
to the quick with its sting of poignant 

He turned and went back into the 
house. Mrs. Marsh was just sitting 
down with her crocheting by the even- 

ing lamp. Her husband, his toil- 
roughened hands in contrast with the 
smooth vellum of the volume, was 
reading a copy of Glen's well-worn set 
of DeQuincey essays. Alan MacLaren 
sat droning by the open fireside, his 
pale blue eyes fixed vacantly on the 
leaping flames. 

The old Scotchman sat thus much of 
late evenings, thinking, thinking, see- 
ing faces in the fire of those he loved. 
The bonny tresses of the wife he had 
lost and of the daughter lost to him 
also were in the yellow of the flame and 
their bright eyes in the glow of the 
lambent embers. 

At times he would start forward in 
his old rush-bottomed chair, gripping 
his great, age-weakened fists together 
until the kuckles knotted like rope 
ends, murmuring impotent curses on 
all who had any hand in luring Flora 
from him. 

Once, a year before, he disappeared 
for several weeks and then came back 
haggard and spent after a vain search 
out in the cruel world, of which he 
guessed so little, for his "wee bonny 
lass," as he never ceased to call her. 

Since then he passed but little time 
in his cheerless cottage, but haunted 
the house, keeping close to Mrs. Marsh 
or to Glen, saying little, but following 
them for evident companionship in his 
travial of heart like a dumb creature. 
For many things which he did he was 
not responsible, and no duties were put 
upon him. But he pottered about, do- 
ing this thing and that unconscious 
that the responsibilities of old had 
slipped from him. 

Glen sighed as he passed the bent 
figure by the hearth, and touched the 
old man's head gently as he went on 
through the living apartment and up 
to his room in the old wing of the 

In this older part of the dwelling 
Glen maintained his dominion — one 
room his chamber, the other, full of 
books, boyish gimcracks, old furniture, 
fishing rods, and, as Mrs. Marsh was 
wont to exclaim on cleaning day, "gen- 
eral disorder." 

{To be continued) 


The New England press for the past 
month has been lining up with the 
Peary or Cook camps. 

We are not aware that any individ- 
ual has an inalienable right to be first 
at the North Pole. The principal asset 
which the world has derived from the 
adventurous spirit has been the stirring 
of red blood and the access of manhood 
incident to the struggle with the brute 
forces of nature. It is more than likely 
that it will judge the relative merits of 
competing candidates for the honor of 
"discovery" by the manliness of their 
respective attitudes, and it is quite pos- 
sible for any and all to so conduct 
themselves that the world will shrug 
its shoulders, and say, "who cares 
whether you were there or not?" 

At the same time this would be un- 
fortunate. Let us be patient and not 
belittle the greatness of a great 


Street railway companies in Massa- 
chusetts have offered to aid the state 
in its battle against forest fires. Thq 
state has accepted the offer, and gen- 
eral orders have gone forth to many of 
the railway superintendents to begin 
the work of co-operation at once, on a 
well-planned system. This move on 
the part of the railway companies 
places a commercial value on rural 
scenes. It is to protect scenery, be- 
cause its attracts the people and creates 
traffic for the companies. 


Through the generous gift of twenty 
acres of land in Mattapan, by Mr. 

James M. Prendergast, the Boston As- 
sociation for the Relief and Control of 
Tuberculosis has been enabled to un- 
dertake a new experiment in the after 
care of discharged sanatorium pa- 

The return to live in congested quar- 
ters of the city often negatives the good 
results of Sanatorium treatment, so 
Prendergast Camp has been developed 
to offer a continuation of the Sana- 
torium life so far as is consistent with 
a return to work. 

In a beautifully wooded tract within 
the city limits, and only fifteen minutes 
by trolley beyond the Forest Hills ex- 
tension of the elevated railroad, men 
who have had the tubercular process 
arrested may find ideal outdoor condi- 
tions under which to clinch the cure. 
An administration building, with 
kitchen, dining-room, shower baths, 
and toilets, and a long "lean-to," ac- 
commodating twelve men, comprises 
the present equipment. In the sleep- 
ing shack the ward effect has been 
avoided by a division into "cubicles," 
with walls of canvas reaching part way 
to the ceiling. In each cubicle there is 
a bed, chair, closet, and chiffonier. 
Each cubicle is open to the front and 
has a window in the rear high over the 
bed, offering ideal conditions for out- 
door sleeping. 

It is expected that patients from the 
different sanatoria who are ready to 
return to work, but who dread a return 
to unfavorable living conditions in the 
city, will be glad to avail themselves of 
this opportunity to continue the treat- 
ment. The price for board has been 
fixed at $4 per week. It is aimed to 
serve well-cooked and appetizing food, 
with free use of milk and eggs. 

A small garden was cleared last 
spring. This will be extended so as to 




Prendergast camp eor men at West Roxbury 

furnish a supply of fresh vegetables 
for the table. 

Mr. Henry E. Paulson and wife are 
respectively superintendent and ma- 
tron at the camp. Mr. Paulson left 
Rutland three months ago, and has 
undertaken this position in preference 
to returning to his former work in one 
of the shoe factories at Campello. 

The Prendergast Camp — a night 
camp, it might be called — is a new de- 
parture in caring for tuberculosis. Its 
progress will be watched with great 
interest, and if successful it will surely 
lead to the development of suburban 
homes specially adapted to rental 
charges and in construction for the 
housing of the entire families of pa- 
tients, both men and women, who seri- 
ously need something better than is 
offered in the congested districts of the 
city, at a rental within the means of the 


The Brockton Fair is planning this 
year to hold the greatest outdoor ath- 
letic meet ever held in New England. 
They have gone to a great expense to 
build a quarter-mile cinder track within 
the oval of the Fair Grounds, with a 
good building for training quarters, 
supplied with shower baths and other 
accommodations. Having this quarter 
of a mile track they are enable to have 
a more complete meet than in former 
years, when they were dependent on 
the horse track for their use. There 
will be another departure this year, the 
athletic games taking place on Thurs- 
day, October 7, one of the big days. 

On Tuesday, the first day, there will 
be the usual children's sports of all 
kinds, with basket-ball and football 
games ; on Thursday, the seventh an- 
nual athletic meet of the Brockton 



Fair; on Friday, the second annual 
Marathon race. 

The athletic events have come into 
such prominence that the best athletes 
in the country are glad to come and 
take part in the games and races. 

associations, and Y. M. C. A.'s. The 
above makes a fine list of attractions, 
and assures all those interested in ath- 
letics that they will have a good day's 
sport if they attend the Brockton Fair 
on Thursday, October 7th. 

From a painting by J. A. S. Monks 

A correction. The illustration on 
page 718 of the September number 
represented the timely arrival of Cap- 
tain Bailey and E Company of the 9th 
Infantry. We regret that the title 
printed was erroneous. — Editor. 

The typical Monks picture repro- 



duced above has been recently acquired 
by E.C.Berhek,Esq., of Boston, who is 
to be congratulated upon the possession 
of so masterly a work from the studio 
of this distinguished Boston artist. 

Mr. Monks' chosen field is one invit- 
ing either the most laborious study or 
— slovenliness! To gain a fairly ade- 
quate knowledge of the form and habits 
of an individual species and vary its' 
presentation in pastoral composition 
might be thought quite sufficient by 
men of no mean quality. But it is not 
in this way that Mr. Monks has at- 
tained his masterful strength. He isJ 
never done with the study of his sheep. 
He lives among them, and when the 
accidental interest arises in the great 
play of out-of-doors, he is there to 
chronicle it with interpreting insight 
of his long training. Mr. Monks' sheep 
are, in the first place, real sheep, cap- 
able of moving about on the legs he 
gives them and cropping grass with 
their strong teeth and lips. In the sec- 
ond place, they are individuals, each 
with his personal equation, and in the 
third place, they are doing something 
that sheep do in the way that sheep 
do it. But this is not all. Nor is it 
sufficient to add that Mr. Monks has 
been a close student of light and suc- 
cessfully transfers to his canvas an in- 
finite play of color. 

Over and above all this, which is the 
firm foundation upon which his art 
builds, is a pastoral quality drawn from 
the human heart. His impressionistic 
realism is set to work doing some- 
thing more than transcribing objective 
actuality — to which, nevertheless, it is 
never false. In all his paintings is that 
ineffable touch that makes all the world 

The picture before us is of sheep 
conscious of the shepherd's care. About 
them is no fear, no anxiety. They are 
the sheep of the Twenty-third Psalm — 
the sheep that are known each by its 
name. In the background is a hint of 
abundance, of shelter, and of house. 
Trust, contentment, peace — these are 
its message, over and above its splen- 
did drawing and masterful transcrip- 
tion of light and shade. 

Mr. Monks is an industrious work- 
man. From his field workshops and 
from his studio, at No. 296 Boylston 
street, new pictures are constantly ap- 
pearing, each with its distinctive qual- 
ity — sometimes leaning toward broad 
poetic landscape, sometimes toward 
almost literal portraiture of the flock 01 
some strong leader or meek-eyed ewe 
In this fruitfulness as well is that mas- 
ter shown which ranks him among the 
men who in our day are making the 
city of Boston known as an art centei 
to be seriously reckoned with. 

As was forecasted in our September 
number, the opening of the theatrical 
season in Boston was unusually bril- 
liant. At the Tremont Theatre Mr 
Louis Mann's strong acting relieved 
the tameness of a not very strong play 
It was followed by "The Candy Shop,' 
a musical comedy cast along populai 
lines. At the Majestic also musica'. 
comedy holds the boards. "Havana,' 
fresh from a six months' run at the 
Casino in New York, with Editr. 
Decker as prima donna, will be ver) 
likely to repeat its success in Boston 
At the Hollis Street Theatre Rcberl 
Edeson, in the "Noble Spaniard," was 
well received, the houses being un- 
usually large for so early in the sea- 
son. "On the Eve," which followed it 
with the German actress, Hedwig 
Reicher, a woman of great beauty, as 
well as dramatic genius, in the leading 
part, is as strong a play as is likel) 
to be seen in New England this sea- 
son. It is interesting to note that ir 
the unusually strong cast of this 
piece Miss Stella Hammerstein, whose 
dramatic career opens most auspi- 
ciously, will appear. At the Part 
Theatre, "A Gentleman from Missis- 
sippi," a laughing comedy that is pari 
of the fun of the day, is the attraction 
Every one will want to see it. "Sen- 
ator Langdon" is a character to be 




:membered and Bud Haines, the 

!!oung reporter, and Randolph Lang- 
>n and the "Bouquet of Buds from 
ississippi" are all memories to lighten 
any a day with good-humored 
uckle. Not to see "A Man from 
ississippi" is to be as much out of 
ie with the times as to miss Rose 
ahl in a "Chorus Lady" at the Co- 
nial. For that is another of the all- 
;und shows for everybody that is en- 
rtaining the Boston public. 
"The Candy Shop," which is the new 

attraction at the Tremont, is enjoying, 
says the Transcript, the good fortune 
of a musical play that discovers new 
talents in familiar players, and gives 
unfamiliar players their opportunity. 
"The Candy Shop" is really an assem- 
blage of opportunities for an able com- 
pany. Few of them go unimproved. 

William Collier and his laughable 
farce, "The Patriot," follows "On the 
Eve" at the Hollis. He is surrounded 
by an admirable company. More and 
more in recent years Mr. Collier has 



written his own plays and while the 
skeleton of "The Patriot" is the work 
of Hartley Manners, the actor himself 
has oftenest clothed it with the dia- 

gle and double entry. By Calvin 
G. Hutchinson, accountant, and 
Walter S. Parker, assistant super- 
intendent of schools, Boston. 

This valuable book has lately come 
under our notice and we are inclined 
to call attention to it because there is 
now much discussion of what are called 
modern methods of accounting. It be- 
gins with a narrative diary of business 
transactions and explains why these 
records need to be stated in regular 
and recognized forms. 

The principles of bookkeeping are 
as old as those of arithmetic and are 
so stated as to be understood by any 
one. The relation of debit and credit is 
clearly explained, and the several forms 
of accounts are stated under several 
heads as follows, viz. : 

Ordinary Accounts — Accounts current, 
cash, notes receivable, notes payable, 
inventory and valuation. 

Subordinate Accounts — Outlay and in- 
come, proprietors' capital, or stock ac- 

These are so exemplified as to show 
what classes of facts belong on either 
side of the several forms, and many 
sets of books and examples for the 
pupil to write out are given. 

Beyond the proper field of school 
study there is much general informa- 
tion not elsewhere published, compris- 
ing bank statements, the clearing 
house, analysis of financial reports, 
comparisons of the United States Na- 
tional Bank and Bank of England sys- 
tems, and a great variety of relative 

The book is highly commended by 
high officials of the United States 
Treasury, the chief cashier of the Bank 
of England, and eminent teachers. 

It is of the utmost value for self- 
instruction and is issued in two edi- 
tions. For common schools, elementary 
principles, and single entry, 88 pp., 50 
cents ; for high schools and self-instruc- 
tion, single and double entry, 240 pp., 
$1.00. The publisher is now C. G. 
Hutchinson, 14 Wales street, Dorches- 
ter, Mass. 


To found ethical conceptions upon a 
generalization which will hold for an 
age that no longer leans on authority 
for its ethical standards, and that will 
at the same time afford an illuminating 
point of view from which to discuss 
moral questions now sharply at issue, 
is the professed purpose of a very 
serious discussion by the Rev. Charles 
F. Dole, who has already contributed 
to the subject such essays as "The 
Golden Rule in Business," "The Prob- 
lem of Duty," etc. 

The ethics of progress is distinctly 
idealistic and theistic without being 
theological in the usual sense of thq 
word, or bound by tradition. The dis-j 
cussions are fresh, thought-provokingj 
and vital. If he has not altogether! 
escaped the temptation to overwork d 
phrase as the perfect key to the solu- 
tion of all ethical complications, he has 
at least taken pains to define his catch 
word of "good-will" on clean and sim 
pie language. We still detect, however "j 
a trace of the old New England spirijl 
in Mr. Dole's "man of good-will," anqi 
would very much dislike to be at hi 1 ' 
mercy. The long upper-lipped varietj| 
of saint might find a very comfortablji 
standing-ground well within the bor|| 
ders of this phrase on which to posr 
and this is the trouble with all catch I 
words. New England life, the Net 
England character, has been s 
blighted by just that kind of thing ths 
it will require more than one genera- 
tion more to eliminate it. 




But Mr. Dole's ethical discussions 
are far more human than is usual to 
moral essays. 

If we find in it a disappointing reten- 
tion of this old flavor, we also miss one 
strange element that belonged to the 
elder ethical discussions. 

Mr. Dole's theory of the nature of 
sin seems to us inadequate — rather 
thin, to put it plainly, and, as a neces- 
sary consequence, his discussion of for- 
giveness becomes correspondingly un- 
satisfying. To say that "your blame 
ceases as soon as the occasion ceases. 
This is the essence of forgiveness" 
(page 259), is to forget the very soul 
of forgiveness as the great initiative of 
moral regeneration. Forgiveness that 
sits down and waits for the other fel- 
low to turn over the new leaf and make 
everything right is not forgiveness at 
all — it is merely a good-natured setting 
aside of a grudge. Forgiveness as self- 
initiated, outgoing, regenerating activ- 
ity is the greatest of all ethical facts 
or forces. Mr. Dole's definition smacks 
again of New England coldness and 
doctrinairism and is the most unsatis- 
factory phase of the book. Turning 
from these things to the body of the 
discussion we find much insight and 
breadth, a true humanity and honesty 
that is quickening and refreshing. 
While we would criticise the book 
rather sharply in sane particulars, we 
would wish it a wide reading and re- 
joice in its appearance. It is published 
by Thomas Y. Crowell & Co., in a hand- 
some one dollar and a half octavo 


The classic of classics has gradually 
wrought out for itself in the world of 
books a typographical form which few 
publishers would have the tenacity to 
radically alter. Between the ponder- 
ous folios of old, and the dainty little 
hand-books which the public has come 
to associate with the publication of 
a Shakespeare play is to be found about 
every style of book-making known to 
the art. But they have simmered 
down to a pretty well-established type, 

within the lines of which there is still 
abundant room for individuality. 

"The New Hudson Shakespeare," as 
issued in a school edition by Ginn & 
Company, is a handsome series of vol- 
umes, bound in red cloth and clearl} 
printed with numerous annotations and 

A comparison with the old Hudson 
Shakespeare shows the notes to be en- 
tirely rewritten as well as condensed 
and reduced to a more logical form. 
More attention is paid to sources and to 
historical and contemporary influences 
and the notes are indexed. The text is 

The student who purchases the New 
Hudson Shakespeare comes into pos- 
session of a handsome little volume not 
unfitted for a place in his permanent 

The notes are not as obtrusive as 
might be supposed from the fact that 
they are printed on the same page 
as the text, and in that, as in other 
respects, convenience has been carried 
to the very highest point. Details, such 
as the printing of act and scene num- 
bers at the head of each page and the 
use of a heavier faced type in the notes 
to indicate the words and phrases com- 
mented upon, detract nothing from the 
appearance, while they greatly facili- 
tate rapid reference. 

The book does not seek to exploit its 
extraneous material above its great 
original, and its modest dignity in this 
respect reflects all the more credit upon 
its editors. Its popularity is assured. 


To any one who has loved the tradi- 
tions of New Bedford or gray Nan- 
tucket town, the very title of Howland 
Tripp's new book "In Whaling Days" 
seems a talisman. It will unlock, per- 
haps, the secrets of those grim old 
barks in the historical paintings sailing 
serenely against a background of hard 
vellow sky and oily green sea. The 
square-rigged ships, indeed, have al- 
most disappeared from the wharves of 
New Bedford to-day, but in all the 
whaling towns, the dignified and ample 



houses still attest to the success of the 
olden enterprise. 

The actual life of the whaler on the 
high sea has been given in many a 
novel, from the little known "Moby 
Dick; or the White Whale" to the 
"Cruise of the Cachalot." It is the sec- 
ond phase of whaling life that Mr. 
Tripp has chosen to describe, the re- 
tired merchants in their white-pillared 
houses or in their loafing place at the 
Mercantile Insurance Company. It is 
extremely desirable that these tradi- 
tions should be preserved and the series 
of character sketches that Mr. Tripp 
has presented show the requisite knowl- 
edge of the past, together with a deep 
interest in the subject. His diligent 
and careful workmanship is undeniable 
in the studied development of situation 
and the detailed description of the old 
captains. Some of the climaxes, though 
a little measured, are very telling. 
There is the homely philosophy of the 
ship-owner, who never hired a man 
from captain to foremast hand without 
knowing who his mother was, and 

there is the admirable retort made by 
the soft-tongued Quaker to an over- 
shrewd competitor. 

"I try to be a gentleman," the latter 
had said in tentative apology. 

"I am a gentleman," said the Quaker, 
as he left the office. 

Out of the very precision and dili- 
gence of the work, however, rises a self- 
consciousness that tends to make it a 
malted extract of the old salty flavor. 
Some ingredient there is that is lack- 
ing in the composition. The atmos- 
phere should be as thickset with ro- 
mance as a fog from the southeast, but 
it is as rarefied as mountain air. The 
tang of the salt is not here, and without 
it any tale of New Bedford must lose 
its savor. If Mr. Tripp had lived, he 
would doubtless have merged in com- 
plete harmony his power of narrative 
with an appreciation of environment. 
As it is the collection of tales must 
remain an earnest only of what maturer 
powers might have accomplished, yet a 
book creditable in itself and valuable to 
New Bedford. 

With tli 



The carefully planned and skilfully 
executed merger of the Boston Cham- 
ber of Commerce and the Merchants' 
Association has at last made its official 
bow .before the public in a great ban- 
quet at which the President of the 
United States was among the guests of 
honor. The occasion was picturesque 
and memorable. Among the interest- 
ing things, such as always develop at 
such a time, was the revelation to many 
of the clean-cut, oratorical ability of 
Governor Eben Draper The gover- 
nor's speech was all that the time and 
occasion required and was delivered 
with ease and force. President Taft, 
whose speech was, of course, the event 
of the evening, remained significantly 
silent concerning the tariff, took occa- 
sion to eulogize Senator Aldrich, de- 
fended his great toar, and urged 
reformatory financial legislation. His 
sincerity impressed the great audience 
very strongly, and from the moment 
that he rose to his feet his personality 
dominated the vast audience and its 
sincerity and overflowing good humor 
became the atmosphere of the occasion. 

The Boston Chamber of Commerce, 
it is needless to say, was greatly grati- 
fied by securing the attendance of the 
President of the United States as its 
guest of honor at the banquet. It takes 
pride in the recognition of Mr. Taft 
of the value and significance to every 
progressive community in the country 
of an example of enterprise and energy 
in the cause of progress throughout 

New England. The significance of that 
consolidation, from the point of view 
of the Chamber, is the proof it gave 
that civic patriotism and earnestness oi 
purpose to labor for the general wel- 
fare, and a refusal to allow selfish con- 
sideration to obscure public duty, were 
placed whole-heartedly at the service 
not only of Boston, but of all the other 
interdependent commu- ities which are 
comprised in the name "New Eng- 
land." The Merchants' Association, 
which consented to sink its identity in 
another and younger organization, was 
composed of members entitled to be 
proud of past achievements, who, only 
a short time before, had reorganized 
themselves for still more effective 
work than they had been doing in the 
past. Their recognition that, by merg- 
ing with the Chamber of Commerce, 
they would be able to advance the 
cause which they had at heart still 
more effectively, was striking proof 
of their high conception of public 

The reorganized Chamber desires to 
impress upon the public the fact that 
the scope of the public service which 
it has equipped itself to render is not 
bounded by Boston alone. Its field is 
New England, and it is to her com- 
merce, her industry, and her public 
interests no less than to those of Bos- 
ton proper, that it purposes to devote 
itself. The advancement of those in- 
terests in Boston will, it believes, 
benefit all the other communities of 
the section of the country of which 
Boston is the metropolis, and it earn- 
estly hopes for co-operation from 
without as well as from within its 
municipal limits. 





By Secretary Thomas F. Anderson 

With a threatened "invasion" of 
British shoe manufacturers, and with 
Senator Warner, of Missouri, predict- 
ing that his state is by and by to be- 
come the center of the shoe manufac- 
turing industry of America, the repre- 
sentatives of our great New England 
industries certainly are getting some 
food for thought just now. 

And, as if this were not enough, 
there has been a lively Peary-Cook con- 
troversy in progress between the 
ultra-protectionists of the Home Mar- 
ket Club variety and the free hide 
advocates, as to the ultimate effect on 
the manufacturer of footwear and the 
much-discussed "consumer" of the 
recent removal of the hide duty and 
the lowering of the tariff on shoea 
and leather. 

The so-called "foreign invasion" is 
giving New England manufacturers 
but little concern, and they are just 
now more interested in the question of 
shoe prices than in the industrial 
ambitions of Missouri. 

It appears to be the opinion of most 
manufacturers here that even with the 
protective tariff on a certain grade of 
shoes reduced to ten per cent, it will 
probably be a long time before the 
foreign manufacturer finds a profit- 
able entrance into the American mar- 
ket, if, indeed, he ever does. 

There is a certain subtle quality 
called "style" that foreign manufac- 
turers, even with the aid of American 
shoe machinery, have not been able to 
impart to their products as yet, and 
there are various other respects in 
which their footwear falls short of 
the American consumers' requirements. 
With an enterprise that is greatly to 
their credit, some of the British shoe 
and leather manufacturers are already 
displaying samples of their goods in 
the Boston and New York markets and 
advertising their product in our news- 
papers, but thus far they have made 
but little impression. 

On the other hand, our American 

manufacturers, partly as a result of 
the great free hide victory, are begin- 
ning to give more serious thought 
than ever to the foreign markets for 
their own products. There has never 
been a time in the history of the trade 
when the outlook for the extension of 
foreign business in leather and foot- 
wear has been so promising as to-day, 
and it is generally believed that the 
next five or ten years will witness a 
remarkable expansion in American 
shoe and leather exports, accompanied 
by more intelligent and systematic 
methods of exploiting the foreign field. 
The unscientific and desultory man- 
ner in which our entire foreign trade 
has been heretofore handled is rather 
discreditable to us, anyway. 

Any considerable increase in the ex- 
ports of New England made products 
of leather (and what a bewildering 
variety of them there is) will have its 
direct effect upon the commercial de- 
velopment of Boston, the improvement 
of its port facilities, the earnings of the 
railroads centering here, and the gen- 
eral prosperity of its people. 

This entire question of foreign mar- 
kets for shoes and other products of 
leather is to be taken up in a broad and 
systematic way by the New England 
Shoe and Leather Association, and this 
is likely to form one of the organiza- 
tion's most important activities in the 
near future. It certainly is a most 
promising and inviting field of action. 

Incidentally, the association has in- 
augurated an important "forward" 
movement, with the idea of adding 
considerably to its already large and 
representative membership. With this 
end in view, it has instituted a vigor- 
ous canvass of the entire New England 
territory. In view of what it has 
accomplished for the benefit of the. 
trade it represents in the past, and of 
its splendid opportunities for useful- 
ness in the future, it is obvious that no 
individual or firm associated with the 
shoe and leather business or their 
allied industries can afford not to be 
connected with it. 

Commercial organizations, of course, 
ought to be of direct and definite value 



to their individual members as well as 
a tower of strength to their trade in 
general, and if they do not meet these 
requirements, they would better not 
exist at all. 

The New England Magazine; is do- 
ing splendid missionary work along 
this particular line, through its "With 
the New England Boards of Trade" 
department. The latter is a clearing 
house of ideas and a bureau of informa- 
tion and suggestion that cannot help 
being of much value to all of our nu- 
merous New England trade bodies. 

By T. J. Kelley 

An increase of 7000 wage-earners in' 
Hartford the past ten years is shown by 
an industrial census just completed by 
the Board of Trade. This means that 
the industrial activities of the city have 
practically doubled in a decade. The 
net gain in population during the same 
period has been 32,000, the present fig- 
ures being 112,000. Statistics procured 
from forty factories show that every 
one is on full running time during the 
first week in September, with seven- 
teen on overtime, two being on a 
twenty-four hour schedule. The re- 
vival trade wave is also reflected by 
the additions to factories and new 
manufacturing homes. The Hartford 
Machine Screw Company will erect a 
large addition to its plant this fall and 
the Universal Machine Screw Com- 
pany will erect a new building. The 
Pope Manufacturing Company has ex- 
panded by purchasing the immense 
Lube plant from the steel trust, which it 
will occupy at once in the manufacture 
3f its cars. This factory has an area 
:>f five acres. 

A significant feature of the building 
tatistics procured in connection with 
|:he census of the Board of Trade is 
he tendency toward cottage life and 
iway from the tenement type of dwell- 
ng. Mechanics here aim to own their 
)wn homes and they generally build a 
wo-family structure away from the 
ongested district, yet near enough to 
he manufacturing center to enable 

them to be in close touch with their 
work by trolley. 

There are at present five outside 
concerns seeking Hartford capital for 
the establishment of branches of their 
industries here. One of these will give 
employment to 2500 men. The reason 
given by each of them for being de- 
sirous of locating in this city is that it 
affords better opportunities for procur- 
ing skilled workmen than any other 
city in New England. It was for this 
reason that the Underwood Typewriter 
and the Royal Typewriter companies 
came here. Between them they em- 
ploy approximately 3000 mechanics. 
Hartford's great asset therefore is the 
skill of its workmen. It is winning 
fame and earning wealth for the com- 
munity to such extent that the stride 
of the city's progress is amazing. 
There is not a vacant factory here to- 
day and the space available for light 
manufacturing is being so rapidly ab- 
sorbed that factory building will soon 
prove one of the best and safest invest- 
ments* for surplus capital. 


Editor New England Magazine 

New Bedford's situation is perhaps 
unique among the rapidly growing 
cities of the country, in that its growth 
has been accomplished almost entirely 
without the "'booming" efforts which 
are made by some of the Boards of 
Trade and commercial organizations 
in other places. Business men. and 
particularly those engaged in the 
manufacture of cotton goods, have 
long appreciated New Bedford's nat- 
ural advantages, and have themselves 
profited by the situation without urg- 
ing in the customary way. 

While there have been, from time 
to time, the usual "write-ups" dis- 
tributed through the ordinary me- 
dium, New Bedford has depended, 
largely, for its advertising upon the 
local newspapers. That these news- 
papers have loyally attended to that 
line of work is a fact which many peo- 
ple in New Bedford do, and which 



many more people should appreciate. 
There is no question, however, that 
such a chance for blowing its own 
horn as was afforded New Bedford in 
the September number of the New 
England Magazine: is of great \alue 
to the city, and that it will result in 
good returns, for which the enterprise 
of the magazine should receive a just 
proportion of thanks. 

Like every community, New Bed- 
ford possesses some well meaning citi- 
zens whose pleasure it seems to be to 
criticise, rather than to help, especially 
when the subject happens to be "The 
Board of Trade." Because, at pome 
periods of its existence, the Board .of 
Trade has made mistakes, the critics 
prefer to join the knockers' chorus, in- 
stead of singing praises for what good 
has been accomplished. 

I presume that every Board of 
Trade secretary finds something of 
this sentiment in his community. If 
there is one who has a good prescrip- 
tion for curing such a condition, I 
would suggest that he take advantage 
of the Board of Trade column in the 
New England Magazine to offer his 
fellow-secretaries a "hand-out" for 
their benefit. 

The usefulness of the Board of 
Trade, as it seems to some of us, lies 
in its readiness to do things when 
doing is required; the conservation of 
Board of Trade energy is perhaps bet- 
ter than frothy wastefulness, which 
is hardly worth the powder to make 
it go. 




Editor New England Magazine 

It is very interesting and decidedly 
encouraging to note the commerciar 
atmosphere in western Massachusetts 
to-day, as compared with that of a 
year ago. Business men on every hand 
feel a confidence in themselves, in their 
business, in their neighbor, and in their 
neighbor's business that was little in 

evidence during the fall of 1908. Retai 
trade is brisk, manufacturers are work 
ing, in many cases, overtime, and build 
ing operations are notably numerous. 

With all the rest the Board of Trad* 
is anticipating a very active year, an( 
already committees are busy with va 
rious problems, many of which wil 
require unusual consideration and ma 
ture judgment. 

During the summer months a com 
mittee of ten have been working t< 
perfect a building code, a much-neede( 
piece of machinery in Springfield. Th« 
summer heat was, indeed, a test fo 
faithfulness, and no small amount o 
credit is due the members of the com 
mittee who have recently presented t< 
the city government a building cod 
which, it is hoped, will be in the mail 
immediately effective. The qaestioi 
of the consistency of our state pur* 
food laws, as compared with the na 
tional pure food regulations, is on« 
which is receiving much attention a 
the hands of our committees on mer 
cantile affairs and legislation, acting 
jointly. Local dealers are, of course 
much interested and are looking fo 
definite action in the matter. Severa 
transportation problems and others, in 
eluding the developments of foreigi 
markets, both at home and abroad, wil 
be taken up by the board during th< 
early fall. 

Before this short Springfield sectioi 
has gone to press the Board of Tradi 
will have held its second annual clam 
bake, an institution which, in a singL 
year, has become very popular. Thi: 
year the "clambakers" will be for 
tunate enough to have preceded thei 
dinner with a greeting from Presiden 
Taft, for, as the bake is to take plac< 
on September 15th, arrangements hav< 
been made to give the President a rous 
ing send-off when his train passe: 
through the city shortly after noon 
After all, good fellowship of the righ 
kind pays ! 

Very truly yours, 

Secretary Springfield Board of Trade 

New Eivgl ai\d 



Autumn in the woods at BoxFord 

Photograph hy Mrs. Alice Freeman Palmer 

Karxy Ice — View in BoxFord 


Photograph by Mr*. Alice Freeman Palmer 

The meadow brook, Boxeord 


SK- V - jitv'* iv '''2? ■ 


' 1 hfi 

■ , ■ . 

m& V 


Photograph by Mrs. Alice Freeman Palmer 




1'hotograph by Mrs. Alice Freeman Palmer 

The heart oe the woods, Boxeord 

The path through the grove, Boxeord 

New England Magazine 

Vol. XLI. 


Number 3 

Central America 

An Opening Market for New England' s Export Trade 

With Illustrations by the Author 

many people know where it is 
or what the term implies? In a 
vague way it is classed by those who 
do not know it intimately and who 
place it at all, as part of South Amer- 
ica. Yet when we consider how few 
knew the exact lo- 
cation of the Phil- 
ippine Islands or 
of Greater or Les- 
ser Antilles until 
our war with 
Spain, or had a 
definite knowl- 
edge of the Isth- 
mus of Panama 
until the United 
States undertook 
the building of a 
canal, it is hardly 
to be wondered at 
that so little is 
known of Central 
America. Not un - 

til I was called there a few years ago 
on a business trip did I have more than 
a dim idea of the location or know of 
its great industries, marvelous beau- 
ties, and wonderful possibilities for the 

Central America is situated between 

Railroad tracks through jungi,k 

Mexico and South America, or, more 
strictly speaking, between Mexico and 
the Isthmus, because Panama, being 
no longer part of Colombia, seems to 
be classed simply as the Isthmus. 

Following the lead of Bolivar, the 
George Washington of South America, 
the Spanish yoke 
was thrown off 
and for a few 
years beginning in 
1823 the five 
countries in Cen- 
tral America 
(British Hondu- 
ras was not a 
Spanish depend- 
ency) were united 
under one Presi- 
dent. Though at- 
tempts have been 
made at various 
times to re-estab- 
lish the union, 
there has never 
since then been a united Republic of 
Central America. So much jealousy ex- 
ists between the separate nations that 
such a union is to-day most difficult to 

Guatemala, the most northern of 
these republics, about the size of New 




Crude methods oe transportation across the mountains beeore 
completion oe railroad 

York State, is situated just south of 
Mexico. The population, amounting 
in 1906 to nearly two millions, is made 
up of people of Spanish and Indian 
blood — about sixty per cent being- In- 
dians. Every variety of country is 
found, from the low, hot but fertile 
lands on the Atlantic to the high, moun- 

tainous, salubrious country toward 
the Pacific. The Atlantic abounds in 
luxurious growth. On the train from 
Puerto Barrios we passed azaleas and 
orchids growing wild in the forest, vast 
lands planted with bananas, mangoes, 
cactus, palms, mahogany, and pine- 
apples, growing with the ease and pro- 

Gathering cocoa-nuts eor us 



fuse luxury that exists only in the 

As one reaches the high country, 
amid the great mountains and extinct 
volcanoes, and the higher he climbs 
draws his breath in cooler and cooler 
draughts, the soul expands with the 
picturesqueness and grandeur of the 

Guatemala City is some five thou- 
sand feet above the level of the sea. 
It is the capital of the country. Here 
President Cabrera lives. With its 
beautiful parks abounding in brilliant 

think, from New York to Puerto Bar- 
rios, where one enters an excellent 
harbor and may board a train from 
the wharf to the capital. 

There are four hundred and eighty 
miles of railway in the country and 
projects are under way for connecting 
with the Mexican and Salvadoran 
frontiers by rail. This will prove a 
great civilizer for Central America, for 
by easy intercommunication and open- 
ing up of the marts of trade, the ten- 
dency to revolutionary outbreaks will 

Pa^acio de Minerva at race course on outskirts oe City oe Guatemala 

and luxurious tropical growth, its pic- 
turesque and often grand buildings, 
its distinct view of mountains, some 
thirteen thousand feet high, one feels 
well repaid for the tedious journey of 
two hundred miles from the coast. 
There is now a railroad running the 
whole distance from Puerto Barrios. 
When I went there in 1906 it had only 
been completed to Zacapa, so the rest 
of the journey — sixty miles — was made 
on mule-back, with a drive of some 
dozen miles at the end. Steamers run 
regularly from New Orleans and, I 

In imports to Guatemala the United 
States leads, but in exports Germany 
commands over fifty per cent. The 
greater part and the best of the great 
staple of the country — coffee — goes to 
Germany. Cotton is the next import- 
ant export. With the completion of 
the railroad to the Atlantic, thus mak- 
ing an all-rail carry from the Pacific 
possible, much more of the export trade 
should turn toward our shores. 

In and around the city of Guatemala- 
are many beautiful parks, luxuriant 
with the gay-colored flowers of the 



View from hotee window, 
Guatemala City 

tropics. In one of these is a noble 
monument to Christopher Columbus, 
who sailed down the Atlantic coast of 
Central America and entered what is 
now called after him, Almirante Bay, 
in Panama. This was on his fourth 
voyage, in 1502, and he was searching 
for a passage to the Pacific. No na- 
tural one exists except that one at the 
tip of South America, discovered some 
years later by Magellan — but the com- 
pletion of the Panama Canal will bring 
to realization the dreams of Columbus. 
A picturesque and imposing cathedral 

rises in its majesty close to this park 
and back of the cathedral is the great 
market. Here the Indians bring their 
produce in the early hours of the morn- 
ing, carrying it in a basket fastened 
on their backs and traveling, in spite 
of this encumbrance, at a jog-trot for 
many miles across country. 

Most of our riding was done on 
mules, though sometimes a good horse 
was procurable. They were invari- 
ably small, however, and seldom had 
a good trot. The "trotte," as they call 
it in Spanish, is not "au fait" ; nor were 
our riding breeches, which were a con- 
stant source of gaze and even merri- 
ment. The natives ride in long trou- 
sers and prefer to sit a gentle pacer 
rather than be incommoded by rising 
to a trot. On these they can amble 
along without exertion to themselves, 
stopping to talk with the fair damsels 
who sit waiting for an afternoon call 
behind windows, carefully barred. 

The bull fight, gambling, and cock- 
fighting are the amusements of the 
people. Siestas are the order of the 
day after breakfast, which comes at 
eleven or twelve o'clock. Guatemalans 
are early risers and do their morning's 
work on a cup of coffee. In the even- 
ings, except when there is a band con- 




Statue o# Columbus— Central Park, Guatemala City 

cert, the streets are deserted and the 
city deadly quiet. There is an excel- 
lent opera house in the capital, but it 
is only used when a traveling company 
arrives on the scene from Mexico or 
elsewhere. One afternoon I visited the 
bull ring with some friends. After be- 
ing regaled for a long time by the per- 
formers of a traveling circus, the real 

show which we had come to see was 
started at nearly dusk. This was a 
fight between a bull and a man. After 
a short teasing of the bull, a really 
noble creature, the man, with bare 
arms, chest protector, and shin pads, 
entered the ring. No sooner did the 
bull see him than he lowered his head 
and made a "dash straight at him. In- 



stead of dodging, as we supposed he 
would do, the man stood waiting for 
the bull to approach, and just as he 
seemed on the point of being gored 
and thrown a lifeless mass in the ring, 
jumped forward with arms extended 
and made a perfect dive straight be- 
tween the horns of the angry animal. 
The crowd held their breaths in intense 
excitement. The bull raised his head 
and came to a stop. The man, with a 
firm grip around the huge neck of the 
animal, was thrown high in the air, 
but held firm and fell gracefully back, 
his body coming squarely between the 

dicament of the prostrate man, at once 
rushed forward and by waving red 
cloaks distracted the bull's attention 
from his victim. Some of the specta- 
tors then cried out to kill the bull. 
Fortunately the authorities refused to 
gratify this call for blood from those 
who felt defrauded at not seeing some 
spilt, as at a regular bull fight. It was 
quite exciting enough, however, for 
me, who had never seen the regular 
article and never desire to see it. 

The railroad from the capital to the 
Pacific gives one a grand panorama of 
the huge volcanic mountains, one of 

Houses near mountains on traie to Guatemala City 

horns. Then came a struggle for mas- 
tery, the bull throwing his head now 
up and now to one side. Gradually he 
began to tire when he found how relent- 
lessly the man clung to him. But the 
man grew weak also, his grip gradually 
loosened, and after a few minutes more 
of struggle he slipped onto the ground, 
exhausted by his efforts to choke the 
bull into submission. What was our 
horror to see him fall directly under the 
bull's nose. Surely a ghastly sight 
would soon meet our eyes ! But the 
bull seemed dazed and the waiting at- 
tendants, seeing the dangerous pre- 

which was responsible for the destruc- 
tion of the old capital. A visit to its 
ruins, a few miles from Guatemala 
City, is a favorite and most interesting 
excursion. A short distance from the 
present capital we pass near the shores 
of Lake Amatillan and can see spots 
where the water bubbles with such 
fierceness from the hot sands below 
that one can boil eggs in it, while other 
parts of the lake are temperate and 
others freezing cold. After an inter- 
esting and comfortable journey we 
reach the port of San Jose. Here there 
is no harbor, merely a straight sandy 



At home 

beach on which comes, unhindered, the 
long swell of the ocean. And this is 
the great Pacific, this dull, noiseless, 
glaring, monotonous, unvaried stretch 
of water. The large steamers do not 
venture alongside the pier, which 

stretches out gloomily into the vast 
ocean. We are lowered on board a 
lighter and hoisted up again in chairs 
on the steamer's deck. Then heat and 
monotonous windless steaming, and 
Guatemala vanishes from our sight. 

Native houses on road from Atlantic coast to Guatemala City 


Mrs. Barber in Handei/s "Largo 

The Significance of the Present 
Dance Movement 


SIDNEY LANIER, the poet, he 
who wrote so suggestively that 
"music is love in search of a 
word,"* prophesied as early as 1866, 
that "music 
would revolution- 
ize the world." 
Later he followed 
up this prophecy 
with the more 
specific forecast 
that music would 
transform the en- 
tire art and life of 
our own country. 
However, he did 
not foresee how 
this great change 
was to be brought 
about. Although, 
in all his writings, 
he clearly recog- 
nized the part 
rhythm had 
played and was 
playing in poetry 
— he went so far 
as to classify lan- 
guage as a form of 
music — he did not 
apparently realize 
chat he could quite 
as well have car- 
ried this analysis 
further and have 
described music as 
a form of dance. 

Be this as it may, evidence is accu- 
mulating that we are face to face with 
what has been called "the Renaissance 
of Dancing." 

In all circles, European and Ameri- 
can, social and professional alike, 

there is a 
dances are 


Danck of "Inspiration," "Arabian Prayer 

of dancing. Old 
revived, and new 
dance-forms cre- 
ated. There are 
ancient and sym- 
bolic dances of the 
Far East, .dances 
of Greece and pre- 
Christian Rome; 
folk dances me- 
diaeval and mod- 
ern ; new aesthet- 
ic dancing and 
modern classical 
dances — present- 
ed in drawing 
rooms and on the 
stage, in outdoor 
pageants, and at 
indoor festivals. 
They are also 
practiced ardent- 
ly, privately, by 
people of all ages, 
from the little 
children to men 
and women of ad- 
vanced years — for 
this interest in the 
dance is not con- 
fined to youth ; 
like Socrates, who 
began learning to 
dance at the age 
of sixty, they take 
; they have learned 
that dancing is a pleasure for one of 

man instinctively ex- 

no thought of years 

any age. 

* In his poem "The Symphony." In that wonderful essay, "Retrospects and Prospects," Lanier 
elaborates this thought: _ "To the soul, music combines^ in _ itself the _ power of steam, the agility of 
electricity and the fidelity of the printing press. It is civilization in a conch-shell. Love is a vast 
lily whose petals gleam faintly just under the wave of life, and sometimes sway and float out above 
it. Up from this lily there arises an odor. It is music. 'The orator,' said Quintillian, 'should 
know everything.' How much more should the musician understand all things ! For the true musician 
is as much higher than the t orator as love is higher than law. The Greeks did well therefore when they 
made their word 'mousike' signify a symmetrical and harmonious education of all the powers of man." 




"Over the green eieeds the fairies are dancing 

pressed his emotions, his feelings, in 
rhythmic movement. His religious 
ceremonies, his tales of battle, his joys, 
sorrows, loves, and hates, his adora- 
tion of nature's phenomena, and his 
awe of them, the changes of the sea- 
sons, the festal days, the rising and 
setting of the sun, were all told or ex- 
pressed in dancing. His only language 
was, at first, but a language of signs, 
gestures, and pantomime; and, when 
we make a cross cut through the races, 
we find the primitive man of to-day 
doing the same thing which he did at 
the beginning; and now, we of this 
later day, are returning to this form of 
expression and pouring into it, so to 
speak, the content of the ages, with all 
their expressed and implied multipli- 
cation of effects. By a natural proc T 
ess of involution modern man has 
gone back to the dance through the 
demand in himself for expression. 

In the process of time, dancing had 
given birth to music, poetry, and sculp- 
ture, and then itself shrunk back, be- 
came embryonic — a "lost art." Man in 
his differentiation lost touch with the 
elemental, fundamental, side of life. He 
forgot that the basic principles of mu- 
sic, sculpture, literature, and life are all 
the same. But many influences have 

concurred to bring this truth home to 
him, and the revival of dancing is a 
dawning appreciation of its values for 
the expression of human feeling 
through the natural vehicle for such 
expression — the human body. 

Rag-time, which happily is now 
passing, was a protest from what Pro- 
fessor James vivaciously calls "the jun- 
gle of reality" ; a rebellion against 
slothful art conditions; an anarchistic 
desire to kick and yell and give vent to 
feelings long repressed. This protest 
came first, naturally, from the bottom, 
not the top, in the scale of culture, and 
so it expresses a primitive form of 
rhythm, crude and sensual. It is an 
expression of life, but not of art. 

Space permits but the most rapid 
enumeration of the characteristic qual- 
ities of the dancers who are now be- 
fore the public, and these only those 
who come within the purview of this 
article. Miss Loie Fuller deserves the 
greatest credit for being a pioneer upon 
the professional stage in the great re- 
vival movement of the dance. Her 
long-continued success in Paris before 
a populace notoriously like the Athen- 
ians, "lovers of new things," curiously 
attests the tremendous hold the dyna- 
mic instinct has upon humanity. But, 


more than this, she moves in a heaven 
all her own; she brings color to her 
dancing — the painter's art — blend> it 
with music, and with her marvelous 
effects of drapery suggests the cosmic 
motion, the music of the spheres. Miss 
Gertrude Hoffman, on the other hand, 
is not so eclectic; she voices the pro- 
test "of the jungle," gives little heed to 
the blending analogies of music — is a 
bonnet rouge, and appeals to the same 
element of which "rag-time" is the ex- 
pression. Thus her appeal remains 
powerful and elemental — if not so sub- 
tle and refined as that of the Muses of 
the Dance. Miss Maud Allen is fully 
responsive to the rhythm of the music, 
and embodies a wonderful harmony of 
physical movement of the virginal 
type. The form of her dancing and its 
movement is plastic and sculptural in 

Miss Isadora Duncan, without lights, 
without draperies, with a neutral back- 
ground, with personality in abeyance, 
tells us the story of the soul of the 
music, which is the experience of hu- 
man life. In her art one feels the crea- 
tive power of the soul, and sees the 
endless variations of its moods and 

emotions and its spiritual possibilities. 
Still, she has not yet reached the cli- 
max of her own powers, nor has she 
grasped the possibilities of the human 
body in the great work of social re- 

In short, the dancing in which the 
world is now interested has little to do 
with the usual social dancing, the bal- 
let, skirt dancing, or the "high kick- 
ing" of the musical melange. It is a 
far different, far subtler thing alto- 
gether. Rhythm "makes for honor" 
nowadays, and is taking its proper 
place in the work of social creation. It 
is concerned with the interpretation of 
thought, feeling, and character, by the 
aid of music, pantomime, and rhythmic 
movement, not only expressing the 
moods and meanings of the arts, but 
also bringing into activity the vari- 
ous emotions, moods, and feelings 
of the dancer. Dancing may be reli- 
gious, martial, joyous, sad, or imita- 
tive of nature, as the music or the 
emotion shall suggest. It is a psychi- 
cal, as well as a physical, experience, 
co-ordinating body and soul It is 
thought and emotion expressed in mo- 
tor terms. 

Modern martial dance, "March in D Ei,at " — A. HoliaEnder 



There are dances of fear, of jealousy, 
of love, of anger; dances of adoration, 
consolation, pity, inspiration ; dances of 
spring, summer, autumn, and winter; 
dances of water sprites, naiads, dryads, 
and nymphs; dances of courage and 
victory; dances of gnomes and fairies; 

spinning songs, the songs of the har- 
vest, and the weaver's chorus. There 
is an ever-progressive desire in man tc 
express the pent-up life of the race 
which surges in him, to get into the 
rhythm of life. He can hardly name 
the instinct, but he is no less mas- 


dances of butterflies and birds ; dances 
of flowers and trees; dances of pure 
play — the child spirit let loose. Then 
in minor key there are funeral marches 
and solemn religious rites performed 
as dances ; even the work of the world 
is danced to the rhythmic measures of 


tered by it; he knows that he wishes tc 
obey it, and that in doing so life ac- 
quires greater meaning. It must b< 
clearly seen, however, that in this re 
sponse he is laying the foundation foi 
a higher art than has yet been achievec 
by niodern civilization. 



The modern waltz, in its, genesis, be- 
rays a history not unlike that of rag- 
ime in music. It, too, came from the 
ottom, and had to make its way very 
slowly to general acceptance. In the 
early days before the war, in New 
York, the young men of the jeunesse 
doere were sent to Vienna to join the 

Godard's Mazurka 

Austrian cavalry and there learn to 
ride, to fence, and to dance. The Vien- 
nese were then the best waltzers in the 
world, and the cavalry was the crack 
arm of the Austrian service. From 
Vienna, through Southerners and New 
Yorkers in the Austrian service, came 
the waltz, and with it the music of the 



Joy dance." — Schumann 

Waltz King Strauss slowly and surely 
made its way in every circle through- 
out the land, even in New England. 
The so-called "Boston" as a special 
form of the waltz is a resultant of two 
forces : The demands of human nature 
and the refusal of the "New England 
conscience," so-called, to wholly sur- 
render and relax to the time-spirit. It 
is the waltz in the minuet spirit. 

However, Americans generally are 
now the best dancers in the world, and 
Boston easily leads America in her in- 
terest in the dance. The love of music 1 
has been so fostered in New England 
as to justify Lanier's version of a state 
controlled by music above the law; 
and this readily explains why dancing 
in New England has also come into 
her own. 

Music is the child, not the parent, of 
dancing, and it is only the perversity 
of ascetic discipline that has obscured 
the fact. Happily, now, all contro- 
versv is over. The relation and the co- 

ordination of music and the dance is 
perfectly understood by every one. 
Nothing remains for the rational being 
but a policy of non-resistance to the 
sweet and noble use of both arts, which 
have been playing "hide-and-seek' ! 
ever since the conch of civilization. 

Classical dancing, thus distinguished 
from rag-time and the ballet, is the 
truthful expression of emotion in rhyth- 
mic form. The natural movements oi 
the human body are those which alone 
accord with true emotion and feeling 
Classical dancing is a perfect co-ord- 
ination of motion with emotion, accord- 
ing to anatomical structure and to psy-j 
chical content. To truthfully express, 
emotion, motion must begin in th(| 
basic muscles and evolve in rhythmiq 
sequence to the smaller muscles. (Th<! 
physical law conforms with this] 
When the emotions and feelings arc 
aroused every part of the body is em 
ployed, and if any part is kept static 
when it should be in use, the harmorn 


" Spring song.' 

Ch. Gounod 

is broken, and we get un-rhythmic 
conditions which destroy the classic, 
or natural, lines. The notion which 
has so long prevailed that the trunk of 
the body must not be moved except as 
one rigid whole, has destroyed all 
rh) r thm of motion, has eliminated grace 
of carriage and of walking, and, more 
than all else, it has prevented man 
from developing feeling, because lim- 
ited expression limits soul growth. 
Without expression we cannot grow. 
It has also been responsible for a large 
part of the nervous troubles of modern 
civilization, for when the spine, the 
main aqueduct of the nervous force, is 
not allowed a natural outlet its func- 
tion is hampered and impaired, and the 
result is a nervous system out of 

Originally the meaning of the word 
"dance" covered the whole field of ex- 
pression. Pageantry itself is but a 
form of dancing and coincident with 
the revival of dancing we note the re- 

vival of pageantry. Thus, on the high- 
est authority, "Rhythm is the father of 
all the arts" — the true leader of the 
soul — the creator of a sound mind in a 
sound body, making for honor, but no 
less for the health, the comfort, and the 
joy of life. 

Not only objective art, but the art 
of living, for the vital uses of music, 
for the human being, are to create 
possibilities of feeling, and every new 
feeling pushes back the horizon, re- 
lieves the vision, deepens the under- 
standing, and loosens the bonds from 
sympathy, lov^e, and tenderness. 

Music being of the soul, is in its es- 
sence, love, and the understanding of 
music is an indication of spiritual de- 
velopment. Dr. Carl Muck, the for- 
mer leader of the Boston Symphony 
Orchestra, says : "Music is essentially 
spiritual. A man cannot sit down to 
write music with hate or evil passions 
in him, and the effect of that music 
upon others will not be evil." 

Photograph hy E. W. Prouty 

Mt. Katahdin in Winter 

Mt. Katahdin, Maine 


LIKE a gigantic sentinel keeping 
guard over the great forests that 
surround it on every side, Ka- 
tahdin stands alone, vast and solitary, 
the second highest mountain in New 

Situated as Katahdin is, in the heart 
of the hunting region of northern 
Maine, the West Branch of the Penob- 
scot offers a delightful and compara- 
tively easy way of reaching the foot 
of the mountain. In summer the trip 
is made by canoe, while during the 
winter season, from December to May, 
the "tote road" leading up the Sourdna- 
hunk Valley, and through the heart 
of the forest, affords a most pictur- 
esque journey, and the glimpses of 

mountain, lake, and forest on every 
hand, as one rides through the wilder- 
ness, are grand, beautiful and most 

Of the several trails leading to the 
summit of Katahdin, the one on the 
northwest, where the start is made 
from Daisy Pond, proved to be the 
best. The "Atol trail" on the south 
side takes one through the woods to 
the great slide up which one must 
climb over loose rocks and steep places 
for 2000 feet, and then there is the 
necessity of carrying a camping outfit, j 
for it is almost too great an under- 
taking to reach the summit and re- j 
turn in a day. The northwest trail, | 
however, is much more satisfactory, as 



the trip may be made easily in a day 
from the camps at Daisy Pond. 

After leaving the camp and cross- 
ing Daisy Pond a short carry brought 
us to Elbon and Grassy ponds, where 
we left our canoe and took the trail 
where Katahdin stream comes down 
the mountain side. Just beyond 
Grassy Pond we passed a great cedar 
thicket, which had been the winter 
home of many deer; the branches 
of the trees as far as the deer could 

glimpses of the summit in the distance, 
and it seemed as though every step 
nearer the mountain took us farther 
away from the much-desired summit, 
which resembled a huge pile of rocks, 
and seemed almost inaccessible. 

Thoreau in writing of its appearance 
says that the mountain seems a "vast 
aggregation of loose rocks, as if at 
some time it had rained rocks and they 
lay as they fell on the mountain sides." 
And when we looked upon this great 

Photograph by E. W. Prouty 

Looking west prom just above the timber wne on Mt. Katahdin 

reach had been browsed upon and we 
could look in all directions through the 
thicket, and every tree had lost its 
lower branches. We asked our guide 
if deer were as plentiful as that in this 
region, and he replied, "Oh, yes ! There 
are hundreds around Katahdin and a 
good many live on the sides of the 
mountain, too." We remarked that 
this was evidently one of their princi- 
pal dining rooms. 

From this point we could catch 

mass of rocks, nine miles long, four 
miles wide, and nearly one mile high, 
a feeling of awe and fear came upon 
us ; we thought of the Indian tradition, 
and wondered if we would perish in 
our attempt to reach the summit, for 
"Pomola," the Spirit dwelling on the 
mountain, is always angry with those 
who climb to the summit of Katahdin. 
No finer description of the grand old 
mountain has been given than that 
which Thoreau gives us in his book, 



Photograph by E. W. Prouty 


''The Maine Woods." He ascended 
Katahdin early in September, 1846, and 
the country is practically the same to- 
day as it was sixty-two years ago. 

Thoreau, however, did not reach the 
highest northerly peak, as banks of 
cloud constantly drifting over the sum- 
mit obscured the peak, except when 
an occasional gust of wind would blow 
the clouds aside. 

In making the ascent from the west 
side, after passing the timber line, the 
rocky character of the mountain is 
much in evidence, while the summit 
itself appears even farther away than 
when we started from the valley below. 

The camera was used at this point, 
showing the western peak and the 
rocks of which it is composed. After 
climbing this, we stopped and looked 
about, as Thoreau did, and saw "that 
Maine country, flowing, rippling down 
below." A photograph was also taken 
showing the extensive western view, 
with its many lakes and ponds gleam- 
ing in the bright sunshine. From this 
point the climb was along the south 
slope, where portions of great snow- 
drifts were found, although it was the 
third day of June. The precipitous 
side of the mountain is seen very 
clearly here, and a feeling of awe comes 



Photograph hy E. W. Prouty 

Summit oe Mt. Katahdin and north end of the mountain, looking into the basin 

over one as he looks upon those gigan- 
tic proportions. Thoreau thus describes 
it. "It was vast, Titanic, and such as 
man never inhabits. Some part of the 
beholder, even some vital part, seems 
to escape through the loose grating of 
his ribs as he ascends. He is more 
lone than you can imagine. 
His reason is dispersed and shadoAvy, 
more thin and subtle like the air. Vast, 
Titanic, inhuman Nature has got him at 
disadvantage, caught him alone, and pil- 
fers him of some of his divine faculty." 
We also felt our littleness, our mere 
nothingness in the midst of such a 
stupendous work of Nature, and a sud- 
den fear came upon us as we realized 
our intrusion, as it were, unbidden and 
unwelcomed to this, Nature's own 

"Chaos and ancient Night, I come no 

. spy 
With purpose to explore or to disturb 
The secrets of your realm, but . . . 
. . . as my way 
Lies through your spacious empire up 

On the summit of the ridge is a great 
tableland of one thousand acres, and 
from here it was about three miles to 
the top of the highest peak. More 
snow was found here, and the view 
from this plateau was particularly 
beautiful. The summit was still dis- 
tant and seemed ever to retreat before 
us. The climb here became much more 
arduous, and many times we had to 
scramble on all fours, or pull ourselves 
up by clinging to projecting rocks. 

But the view, when the highest point 
was finally reached, amply repaid us for 
the difficulties encountered in the as- 
cent. From this elevation the country 
for one hundred miles east, west, north, 
and south could be overlooked. No 
house to be seen and the clearings 
where were the occasional camps could 
not be distinguished from the bound- 
less forest itself. 

Thoreau in his description says, 
"Countless lakes, Moosehead in the 
southwest, forty miles long by ten 
wide, like a gleaming silver platter at 
the head of the table: Chesuncook, 



an island ; Millionocket, on the south, 
with its hundred islands ; and a hun- 
dred others without a name ; and moun- 
tains also, whose names for the most 
part are known only to the Indians. 
The forest looked like a firm grass 
sward, and the effect of these lakes in 
its midst has been well compared to 
that of a 'mirror broken into a thousand 
fragments, and widely scattered over 
the grass, reflecting the full blaze of 
the sun.' " 

The photographs give but a slight 
idea of the immense proportions of the 

mountain and beauty of the scenery, 
for how could one compress such vast- 
ness of Nature into a few small pic- 
tures ? 

As Thoreau writes : "This was that 
Earth of which we have heard, made 
out of Chaos and Old Night. 

Man was not to be associated with it. 
It was matter, vast, terrific — not his 
Mother Earth that we have heard of, 
not for him to tread on or be buried in 
— no, it were being too familiar even 
to let his bones lie there — the home, 
this, of Necessity and Fate." 

Photograph hy E. \V. Prouty 

Westerly end of plateau, Mt. Katahdin, showing snow drifts June 3, 1908 



Soft drips the rain amid the bronzing leaves, 
Damp woodland odors from the chilled earth rise, 
And blent with the sweet breath of violets steal. 
On vagrant zephyrs through the forest drear — 
Hushed are the voices of its feathered choir. 

I (, 

When Half-Gods Go, the Gods Arrive" 


CHARLES stood on the front 
porch of the big rambling farm- 
house and looked toward the 
road. Long rows of evergreens formed 
a colonnade from the house down the 
sloping yard to the gate. It was a 
warm April day, still and bright. The 
grass, like a faint green mist, was just 
visible over the big yard, and near the 
house a double row of snowdrops 

Charles was listening for the rural 
mail wagon. Friend Benjamin South 
would be along any time now, driving 
his little gray mare to the new mail 
wagon, and Charles was waiting for 
him with greater anticipation than 
usual, for to-day he was expecting a 
package and it was to be addressed 
to his very own self. Neither the 
weekly newspaper, nor the church 
paper, nor any number of seed cata- 
logues, nor a letter from Brother 
Samuel, who was away off working in 
the city, nor even the arrival of Charles' 
beloved story paper, were half so ex- 
citing to him as a package. 

Charles was ten — a sturdy, bright- 
faced, yellow-haired Quaker lad, with 
deep gray eyes that laughed a great deal 
more than most people knew. He was 
the youngest' of the family. His only 
brother was away from home, and so 
Charles lived very much to himself. 
But he was quite content, spending his 
days with the animals on the farm, or 
walking a mile and a half to the little 
white schoolhouse, where he studied 
his sums and his spelling book. And 
then he had his story paper that came 
once a week, and this was partly why 
he was waiting for Friend Benjamin 
South and the rural free delivery 

But the biggest part of the waiting 
—the package part- — was a secret, and 

only Charles knew it. He had kept it 
to himself for almost a month, and to- 
day he was sure it would come, be- 
cause yesterday he had had a postal 
card saying something about a "favor 
received," which he didn't understand, 
and some more which he decided meant 
that the secret would be here right 
soon. Charles swung himself up on 
the porch railing and dangled his small 
blue overalled legs. He pushed his 
big straw hat back on his head and 
went over the secret in his mind. 

It was four weeks ago to-morrow 
that the premium number of his story 
paper had come. And such a number! 
Full of pictures of the most wonder- 
ful things — some of them in colors as 
natural as life — and everything under 
the sun was to be given away for send- 
ing in from one to five new subscribers 
to the story paper. Such a joyful time 
as Charles had had, spelling out the 
words and dreaming of all the beauti- 
ful things that might be his. If only he 
knew lots of people who wanted the 
story paper for a year. The idea of 
really getting a subscriber never en- 
tered his mind. All the neighbors were 
people who almost never read anything. 
And Charles seldom went to the 
Quaker town four miles away, except 
with his father and mother to meeting 
on first day or on fourth day, and then 
it did not appear quite seemly to ad- 
vertise his story paper. 

Several days after the premium num- 
ber had arrived, Cousin Paul Haycock 
had stopped at the farm for dinner on 
the way to town from his home some 
ten miles away. Cousin Paul Hay- 
cock was a great friend of Charles — 
chums, they called themselves, al- 
though Cousin Paul was just four 
times Charles' age. And after dinner, 
while mother was at work in the 




kitchen and father had gone to the barn, 
Cousin Paul and Charles had looked 
over the pictures in the premium book 
together, Charles pointing out various 
wonders with great enthusiasm. After 
the pictures had been shown and dis- 
cussed, Cousin Paul had said, as he 
rose to his feet and pulled out his big 
gold watch, "Well, Charles, if I sub- 

And when Cousin Paul handed him 
a two-dollar bill from the flat leather 
folder that fitted the inside pocket of 
his gray coat, Charles was radiantly 

So there began several exciting days 
of deciding what he should have. For 
one subscriber he could get a ping 
pong set with colored balls and red- 

Was it broken ? ' ' 

scribe for the story paper for little 
Ellen, what will thee choose for thy- 

Charles could hardly believe his 
ears. But he only smiled up at Cousin 
Paul and said eagerly, "I should have 
to think more about it Cousin Paul. 
Will thee truly have the paper for 

handled rackets, according to the pic- 
ture ; or a watch, a silver one — life- 
sized in the premium book — as big as 
Cousin Paul Haycock's. Charles could 
almost hear it tick. Or he could get 
a gold-framed picture of a crying yel- 
low-haired child in a red dress and 
blue apron, sitting on the floor beside 
a pool of milk and a broken pitcher. 



And then there were books, animal 
books and fairy books and a book on 
games, and there were gloves, brown 
ones with fur at the wrists, and many, 
many things to which Charles went 
back, time and time and again, enjoying 
them all, but not quite sure which he 

On the last page of the book was 
a picture of the Victory of Samothrace, 
the "Winged Victory," the description 
said, which was "a statue six inches 
high, to be had, charges prepaid, for 
one new subscriber," and this pleased 
Charles more and more each time he 
turned to it after carefully going over 
all the other premiums. He couldn't 
tell why he liked it, for by some error in 
the printing, its head and its arms and 
one foot were left out, but the wings 
were to his liking — such strong sweep- 
ing wings ! Charles wished he could 
see a premium number where the head 
was on. It was too bad that his num- 
ber should be so defective, and it was 
not at all thrifty to get a thing with- 
out knowing first what it was even 
like. Again and again he made up his 
mind to choose the gloves or the fairy 
book, but each time he turned once 
more to the picture of the wings. 

Charles smiled to himself now as he 
sat on the porch railing and waited for 
Friend Benjamin South and the mail 
wagon. He was thinking about the Vic- 
tory — the secret — as he had thought, 
oh, so many times since the carefully 
penciled note, with the two-dollar bill 
enclosed, addressed to the story paper, 
had been given into Friend Benjamin's 
hands. When it came, he would sur- 
prise mother and father with it. He 
knew they'd think it fine. The head 
would have to suit, and the arms too, 
because the wings were so satisfactory. 

A robin in a lilac bush near by sang 
a few clear notes and flew into the first 
evergreen. Charles followed it with 
his eyes and wondered about the Vic- 
tory's wings. Would they be the color 
of the robin's? He believed he'd rather 
have them like the blue pigeon's wings, 
all glinty in the sunlight. The pre- 
mium book said nothing about the 
color, but all statues, Charles knew, 

were colored. There was one on the 
organ in the front room, a flower girl 
in a pink dress and blue hat, with a 
match holder at her side. Father had 
bought her from a poor old peddler last 
summer. Still Charles didn't know 
but he'd rather have the wings gray, 
like the wings of the eagle he saw one 
time when he was out with Cousin 
Paul Haycock. My ! but he wished he 
had wings like the Victory had. He'd 
fly — he could just feel himself go, oh, 
ever so high, just as it was when he 
"worked up" standing in the big swing 
in the grove. He could feel the thrill 
down his backbone now, as he thought 
how he'd sail in the air, higher and 
higher, and he smiled to himself, un- 
consciously straightening his back and 
taking deep breaths. He knew where 
he'd go, if he had wings. He'd go to 
the city and see Brother Samuel, and 
he'd fly far away in the winter, down 
south, where the flowers grow all the 
year around, and he'd bring lots of 
them to mother. And when he got 
big enough, and his wings very strong, 
why, he'd just take mother along to 
see things. She could ride on his 
back. Oh, it would be fine to be Vic- 
tory himself! But to have the statue 
all for his own would be almost as 
good, and Charles measured with his 
ringer about six inches on the post, so 
he could judge its size. 

He had not been able to imagine how 
the head would look, but he was sure 
it would look all right. He could 
hardly wait for Friend Benjamin. He 
would run down to the road and sit 
on the big rock by the gate. To-day 
was seventh day, so he didn't have to 
go to school. On other days he al- 
ways met Friend Benjamin on the way 
to school, but on seventh day it seemed 
a year after Charles had done his 
chores till Benjamin stopped at the 
gate and raised the cover to the tin 
mail box. To-day, it seemed forever. 

Charles waited, impatiently throwing 
little lumps of earth at a patch of green 
across the road. At last he heard the 
hoof beats of a horse and then the 
rattle of the cart, and the rural free 
delivery wagon came around the bend 



in the road, Friend Benjamin South 
sitting bent over on the seat, his 
broad hat pulled well down over his 

Charles started up the road, his heart 
beating so hard and so fast that it 
seemed as if Friend Benjamin must 
hear it. But Friend Benjamin didn't 
even see Charles till he was quite up 
to the small boy, and then as Charles' 
excited voice called to him, "Good 
day, Friend Benjamin. Has thee any- 
thing for me to-day?" the horse was 
stopped with one jerk, and a jolly 
round face beamed at the boy, as he 
jumped up beside the driver. 

"Anything for thee, Charles?" Friend 
Benjamin questioned, his blue eyes a- 
twinkle. "Well, I should say so. Get 
up, Kitty," shaking the lines over the 
mare's gray back. "Now what would 
thee say, Charles, to a big package, ad- 
dressed to thy very self? And what 
does thee think it contains? A box of 
monkeys from thy brother in the city, 
does thee think?" 

Friend Benjamin chuckled at his 
own wit, as he drew Kitty to a stop at 
Charles' gate. He reached into a big 
bag and pulled out a box, the size of a 
small shoe box, and handed it to 
Charles. "Well, here it is. See, it has 
thy name in fine writing on the out- 
side. And it's a heavy one — twenty 
four cents in stamps, it took." 

Charles was in the road now, hug- 
ging the secret close to his blue shirt, 
and looking up at Friend Benjamin, 
who added, with a wink, "Maybe it's 
rubber boots Samuel has sent thee. 
Be sure thee wears them to school on 
second day, so I can see them. Will 
thee? Get up Kitty." 

"Thank thee, Friend Benjamin, and 
good day to thee," Charles called after 
the cart. Then he sped up the incline 
between the evergreen trees to the 
the house. He went in the front way, 
and up the front stairs, so no one would 
see him, and into his own little room 
with its neat rag carpet on the floor, 
its small white bed in the corner, and 
its chair and dresser and little chest all 
primly against the white walls. And 
here he placed his box on the floor and 

with hands a-tremble cut the strings 
with his own jack-knife, whicn Samuel 
had sent him Christmas. Then wrap- 
per after wrapper he took off the box; 
then the cover, and then in the excel- 
sior his cold fingers felt something hard. 
Quickly he tore off the packing, and 
there was a wing, all alone. His heart 
fairly stopped beating. Was it broken? 
He laid it carefully on the floor, and 
plunged his fingers again into the ex- 
celsior, and another wing came to view. 
It would be a dreadful thing if it had 
been smashed on the way. A lump 
came into his throat. Again he felt 
the hard plaster in the box, and he 
pulled out the headless body. Charles 
set it down and for the first time 
noticed the fasteners on the wings. In 
a trice his nimble fingers had fitted the 
wings in place, and were back in the 
box for the head and arms. In every 
corner he searched, at last pulling the 
packing out of the box bit by bit in his 
effort to discover the rest of his Vic- 
tory. Of course the head and arms 
were somewhere there, and would fit 
on as the wings had. But though he 
hunted everywhere, he could not find 
them. The box was solid, so they 
couldn't have lost out on the way, and 
if they had been broken, the pieces 
would be there. Slowly it came to him 
that the story people had forgotten to 
send them. His eyes filled with tears, 
and his lips trembled. In his disappoint- 
ment over the lack of the head, of all 
parts the part he most wanted to see, 
it was quite a moment before he dis- 
covered that the Victory was all white 
— all of it — dead white. It was a 
cheat. He had been fooled. They'd 
forgotten to send the most important 
part of it and they had sent him an all 
white Victory. He put his head down 
in the excelsior and sobbed. If the 
head had only come, he believed, after 
a while, that he could stand the white- 
ness. But the idea of them forgetting 
its head seemed almost too preposter- 
ous. He would look once more for it. 
He sat up, and began to put the excel- 
sior back into the box, looking care- 
fully through every handful. After the 
last scrap was in, Charles shut his lips 



tightly together. He would write to 
them and tell them about the mistake. 
He picked up the cover to the box, and 
— why! there was the same picture on 
it that was in the premium book, only 
larger, and this one was without a head 
or arms, too. How queer. He looked 
at the statue in the middle of the floor, 
and compared it detail by detail with 
the picture. It was just the same. 
Even the foot was gone. Charles sat 
quite still and thought it all out. It 
wasn't a mistake in the picture then. 
It wasn't a trick of the story paper 
people, for they had been perfectly 
honest about it. There weren't any 
fasteners for a head or arms as there 
were for the wings. That was all there 
was to the Victory. It didn't have any 
head. It didn't have any arms or feet. 
He supposed it was even meant to be 
white. His fingers felt numb and cold. 
His lips were dry. He pushed his hat 
from his head and wiped his forehead 
with his sleeve. Then slowly he 
reached for the Victory, removed the 
wings, put the three parts in the box, 
placed the cover on it, and bundling 
the wrappers about it, pushed the 
whole thing under his bed, just as far 
as it would go, and hurrying upstairs 
and out into the back yard, he climbed 
the tallest apple tree, just beginning to 
show its green leaves, and stayed 
among its branches till the dinner bell 

All that afternoon and the next day 
Charles was very quiet. His mother 
began to wonder if he was sick, and 
stirred him up a dose of molasses and 
sulphur for his blood. 

Charles tried not to think of the 
Victory, but it had been his one 
thought for so many days, that to drop 
it absolutely, with nothing to take its 
place, was impossible. In meeting on 
first day, he tried very hard to listen 
when the spirit moved Friend Esther 
Starbuck and Friend Ezra Hadley to 
speak, but all the time he was wonder- 
ing to himself if Friend Rebecca Had- 
ley, Ezra's daughter, who taught 
Charles' Sabbath. School class, hadnlt 
herself the very head for the Victory. 
He believed she had, and he grew so 

excited thinking about it, that he could 
hardly wait to get home. 

After dinner he slipped away to his 
room, pulled out the box from under 
the bed, brought forth the body and 
wings, fitted them together and stood 
the whole thing on his bureau. It was 
a bad bargain, he had to admit to him- 
self, but it was his own fault, and the 
wings were just as beautiful as he 
could have dreamed them, and he was 
almost glad they were white. And 
since he had it, he would look about 
among his friends and find a head to 
fit, and then imagine it on. Of course, 
somewhere there was a head beauti- 
ful enough for the wings. But Friend 
Rebecca's head wouldn't do. He 
couldn't just say why, but he was sure 
it wouldn't. 

When his mother came to his room 
some time later, to see if he was sick, 
he pointed out his Victory to her. "I 
got it with the subscription Cousin 
Paul gave me to the story paper," he 
explained hurriedly. "It came yester- 
day. I was going to surprise thee and 
father, but thee sees a it wasn't a good 
bargain, because there isn't any head 
nor arms." 

"Why, did they break coming, 
Charles?" she asked, examining the 
statue with interest. 

"No. It broke before." Charles ex- 
plained. "There weren't any pieces in 
the box. I'd better have had the gloves 
or the fairy book, but thee sees, mother, 
how fine the wings are, and I loved 
the wings in the picture." He looked 
up at her puzzled face, and she bent 
and kissed him. 

"Never mind, dearie. It's too bad 
thee was disappointed, but as thee 
says, the wings are beautiful, and thee 
will know better next time." She 
smiled at him and held out her hand. 
"If thee will come down now, I'll read 
thee a Bible story." 

But though she read the most inter- 
esting of the Bible stories, though she 
held Charles close to her on her lap, 
and rocked back and forth, it was not 
the story, and it was not her sweet 
voice that Charles was thinking of ; but 
he was thinking that if his mother's 



hair wasn't quite so gray, her head 
would be just the one for his Victory. 
Her face was exactly right, but he 
didn't believe, even if the Victory were 
colored, that it would have gray hair. 

The next day at school, Charles ex- 
amined with interest each of the little 
girl's heads. He was surprised at first 
how far they all came from fitting the 
Victory. Not one would do. But the 
teacher — Charles stared so long at her 
that her face got quite pink, and she 
stepped into the hall where the mirror 
was, for a moment. She never knew 
how near hers came to be the head for 
the Victory of Samothrace. Charles 
felt she was almost the one, but alas, 
she wore eye glasses, and they never 
would do for this statue. Some statues 
had them, he knew. The grandfather 
statue at Cousin Paul's wore eye- 
glasses, but Charles was sure his Vic- 
tory wouldn't — not even those with a 
gold chain, like teacher's. 

Aunt Rachel, his mother's cousin, 
was very beautiful, Charles thought, 
and her hair was not gray, but black 
and curly. She didn't wear eyeglasses 
either, but he heard mother say one 
time, with a shake of her head, that 
Rachel was the only worldly one in 
the family, and surely those wings 
couldn't have a worldly head, no 
matter how beautiful. 

And so all of Charles' friends and 
relatives had their turn, and one by 
one they were checked off as lacking 
this or that which the Victory must 
have. It seemed very soon, that not 
the head alone, but the owner also, 
must in every way reach Charles' ideal 
of the Victory. 

Each morning, as he left his room, 
Charles looked back at the spreading 
wings and said to himself that maybe 
this would be the day he'd find the 
perfect head; and each night his 
last thought was, "To-morrow I'll find 

It was one rainy day when he con- 
ceived the idea of looking through the 
big illustrated Bible for his Victory 
head, for surely he could find it in the 
Bible, if anywhere. So he spent the 
afternoon stretched out on the floor, 
his head propped with one hand, turn- 
ing page after page of the big Bible. It 
took a good while to look at all the pic- 
tures and Esther and Ruth and Rebecca 
and Mary Magdeline were all given a 
fair chance, but none of them fitted, 
and Charles closed the book at last, got 
to his feet, and looked out of the win- 
dow for a long time, his nose pressed 
hard against the cool glass and the 
lump in his throat very, very big. The 
Bible had failed him, none of his friends 
or acquaintances would do, and he felt 
as gray and as cold as the sky looked, 

But early the next morning the sun 
streamed into Charles' room, striking 
the little mirror of the dresser and cast- 
ing a rainbow over the spreading wings 
of the Victory. A bluebird sang on the 
window-sill and Charles awoke, his 
eyes on the little statue. He lay quite 
still for several seconds, watching the 
delicate bar of colors. Then suddenly 
sliding from bed, he stood in his long 
white gown before the Victory, and ex- 
claimed joyfully, 

"I'm glad thee hasn't any head, Vic- 
tory. There isn't any head in the whole 
wide world beautiful enough for thee !' : 



Nature's Bounty all Life holds close to her breast, 
The Harvest glow bends low from the radiant West 

And kisses the sombre hills; 

The tall oaks shudder, their sere leaves fall, 

The pines murmur, croon softly, — the woodland enthrills, 
I feel the all-grandeur and bow my head. 


Milton on the Neponset 


r^i EVEN short miles south of the 
^^ State House and separated from 
i<J Dorchester by a narrow stream, 
:he town of Milton wends its quiet way 
hrough the centuries with so little 
)stentation that few people outside its 
)oundaries even dream of the beauty, 
wealth, and antiquity which it guards 

(|o fondly. 
Secure in the knowledge of its worth, 
[his conservative township has no de- 
lire for the plaudits of the general 
oublic, else its treasures might never 
Have hidden from the world until this 
ate day. A rich field for both the his- 
I orian and the genealogist is here, for 
i Vlilton led the new world in many of 
■ he great industries of the present time 
md still harbors many a family whose 
American tree was planted upon 
; Plymouth Rock. Many noted soldiers, 
tatesmen, authors, and inventors have 
I ived and are buried in Milton, while 
ome of her present citizens are well 
known, even in foreign lands. 

In that far off olden time which is 
Inly history to us, when the Pilgrim 
fathers anchored at Plymouth, little 
ime was lost in discovering the lay 
•f the land newly acquired. Less than 

a year after the first arrival, Captain 
Miles Standish with a party of twelve 
men landed at Squantum under the 
guidance of an Indian known as Tis- 
quantum, for whom the spot was prob- 
ably named. Leaving but two men to 
guard the boats, this little party fol- 
lowed the trails across the marshes 
and up the Neponset River until they 
came to Massachusetts Field, as the 
Milton Marsh was then known, Massa- 
chusetts being the name of the tribe in 
possession of these lands. Here, on 
September 21st, 1621, the first white 
men set foot upon what is now the 
town of Milton. 

Soon after this the town of Dor- 
chester was settled and the section 
south of the Neponset River was 
known by the Indian name of Unquity- 

In 1633 Israel Stoughton obtained 
the first grant of land, erecting in that 
same year the first power mill in the 
new world at the little falls near the 
Adams Street bridge of to-day. One 
year later Richard Collicot erected the 
first house in Milton at the corner of 
Adams and Center streets. 

One by one new dwellings sprang 




Unitarian Church, Milton 

ito existence until 1662, when the 
ttle settlement of Unquity decided to 
eparate itself from the mother town, 
nd with Dorchester's permission, de- 
ared itself an independent township in 
lay of that year, choosing Milton as 
le name by which it should be known 
1 future. Why this was chosen is 
ot known for a certainty. Many be- 
eve it was named for the poet Milton, 
len at the height of fame, while others 
eclare it was so christened in honor 
E the many English towns of that 

Deus nobis hoec otia fecit (God has 
horded us this quiet) was the motto 

chosen for the municipal seal of these 
peace-loving, God-fearing Puritans, and 
that motto is quite as fitted to the 
Milton of to-day as to that of 1662. 
Though only seven miles from the 
center, and only a few rods from the 
rim of that restless human whirlpool, 
known as Boston, the "Hub" of Massa- 
chusetts, this offspring of old Dorches- 
ter is unrivaled for repose and pastoral 
pleasure by any rural settlement in 
New England. 

The electric car is a vehicle little 
patronized in Milton, as the trolley 
lines are, for the most part, far removed 
from the residential section of this 



aristocratic town ; also the tracks of the 
steam trains. The auto alone is tol- 
erated by the dwellers of the hills, as 
nearly all of Milton's wealthy residents 
choose the high lands. Even among 
the less fortunate of Miltonites the 
three-flat dwelling, that hive-like horror 
of modern cities, is entirely unknown, 
while the house occupied by two fami- 
lies is by no means common. A tiny 
cottage with grass plot in front and 
small garden in rear is the abode of the 
working class oftenest seen. 

Manufacturing plants, with their 
noisy engines and whirr of machinery, 
are also relegated to the lower sec- 
tions of the town, where their cease- 
less pursuit of various occupations is 
powerless to annoy the quiet-loving 

Soon after the Collicot house was 
built, what was later known as the old 
Littlefield house sprang into being on 
the site now occupied by the residence 

of T. R. Glover, on Adams Street 
Here in 1650 the wife of William Dan 
iels, a noble and generous-hearte< 
woman, first attempted teachinj 
the Indian to read English. Fo 
a year she labored without hel] 
or remuneration, when the results o 
her work became known to the ex 
ecutive heads of the Colony, in Bos 
ton, who at once caused a sum o 
money to be paid her for what she ha» 
accomplished, with the understandini 
that her future attainments in this lin 
would receive like returns. She con 
tinued the work until the close of 165^ 

The first real church was erected ii 
1 67 1 on land donated by Robert Vosc 
Meetings had been held, previous t» 
this time, in a parsonage at the hea< 
of Churchill's Lane since 1664, whei 
the land was first given. 

Although Ensign Ebenezer Tuckei 
a retired soldier, was elected as th 
first school teacher in 1669, no inde 

: M 

: ^M;'rAi'-;? ; 

,., ; . F _ 

PauiAs Bridge 



Mii/ton PuBivic Library 

j pendent building was built for school 
j purposes until 1718. Many descend- 
ants of both Robert Vose and Ebenezer 
j Tucker still live in Milton. 

In 1675 five residents of the town south 
of the Neponset River formed a part- 
|l nership and erected a powder mill near 
J the mill of Israel Stoughton, where 
j powder was manufactured for the de- 
I fense of the Colonists against the In- 
j dians, who had become very trouble- 
I some. This was the first powder mill 
•uilt upon American soil, and was very 

successful until 1744, when it blew up, 
killing nearly all of its inmates. 

The first paper mill in this country 
was also established in Milton in 1728 
near those busy little falls which had 
furnished so much power for new in- 
dustries, a mill for slitting iron hav- 
ing been built here in 1710 by a Mr. 

Perhaps the other towns in Massa- 
chusetts were too busy with their wars 
and the making of our more strenuous 
history to turn their minds to the pur- 

Bntranck to Hutchinson Gardens 



suits of peace, for Milton continued 
to lead them all in the establishment 
of those enterprises learned in the 
mother country across the sea. In "the 
fall of 1764 that immense factory now 
known as the Walter Baker Chocolate, 
Mills made its debut in a building 
erected upon the site of the old powder 
mill, and, strange to say, its birth was 
due to an act of charity. 

James Boies, an emigrant from Ire- 

ranging with Wentworth and Stone to 
allow him a part of their sawmill, 
established him in the business of 
chocolate making, just before the open- 
ing of the new year of 1765. Hanan 
proved an industrious, hard-working 
man, and his business, the first of its 
kind in America, was a success. Both 
his work and his life came to a close, 
however, in 1780, and the business 
which he began was continued by Dr. 


land, discovered a countryman, John 
Hanan by name, wandering aimlessly 
about Adams Street, in a destitute and 
disheartened condition. Upon inquiry, 
he learned that Hanan had been a 
chocolate maker in the old country, and 
had emigrated in the hope of bettering 
his condition, but failing to find choco- 
late mills in the new world, he was at 
a loss for employment and funds. 
Boies at once offered a helping hand 
to the discouraged wayfarer, and ar- 

James Baker, who had been a staunch 
friend of the founder. 

Upon the death of Dr. Baker, the 
mill fell to his son, Edmund Baker, who 
in turn left it to his son Walter, in 
whose name the business still remains. 
In 1854 Henry L. Pierce, a relative, 
succeeded Walter Baker in the direc- 
tion of the business and under his man- 
agement it grew into one of the larg- 
est industries of its kind in the world. 
In 1895 the business was incorporated 



Oi,d Hutchinson Mansion 

under the laws of Massachusetts. 
From a room in the old Milton saw- 
mill, it has grown to a plant now oc- 
cupying six mills in Dorchester and 
Milton, which cover a ground spac^ of 
about eight acres and stands to-day a 
noble monument to the good deed of 
one man to a fellow countryman. 

In speaking of Milton's business sec- 
tion, it is impossible to overlook a por- 
tion of Dorchester, known as the Lower 
Mills, and so closely allied with the 
town south of the river that it is gen- 
erally referred to as Milton Lower 
Mills, as designated upon the trolley 
cars which run from Pierce Square to 
East Milton. 

The car barns of the Boston Elevated 
Road situated at the termination of 
Dorchester Avenue on one side of this 
square are marked "Milton Car 
Barns," and when the Ashmont and 
Milton cars reach this destination, the 
conductors announce "Milton, end of 

the route," thus leading the stranger 
to believe that Pierce Square is in Mil- 
ton, although it is at least three min- 
utes walk before one crosses the bridge 
which marks the dividing line between 
the two towns. 

To be sure, Milton has manufac- 
tories, stores, and banks of its own, but 
owing to the fact that the majority 
of these are on Adams Street, just 
across the river from Pierce Square, 
they serve merely to complete the sec- 
tion of which the above named square 
is the principal part. 

Many old buildings are also found 
in these Lower Mills, among others an 
old village inn, built in 1809, while 
a little further upon Washington Street 
the store of J. C. Talbot, a man well 
known in the public life of Milton, has 
stood for the past ninety-four years, 
having been built in 181 5 by the grand- 
father of its present owner. 

Upon the Adams Street side of this 



square, near the office building of the 
Chocolate Mills, another well-known 
enterprise is housed in the large build- 
ing occupied by the Mason Regulator 

Some twenty-five or six years ago 
its founder, Mr. William Mason, in- 
vented a device for use upon steam en- 
gines, called a regulator; the invention 
was welcomed by engineers all over 
the country and Mr. Mason continued 
to invent machines of this character 
until his valves, pumps, and governors 
are used in all parts of the globe. He 
maintains foreign agencies in all the 
principles countries of the eastern 
hemisphere, as well as those of our 
own continent. He is ranked among 
the well-known inventors of modern 

Just across the bridge in Milton, 
near the immense store houses of the 
Chocolate Mills, the large grain ele- 
vator of Swan & Babcock, with its con- 

necting houses and office, lend an air 
of importance to this busy little center. 
The Strangman Manufacturing Com- 
pany also give employment to a large 
number of wood-workers, machinists, 
and wheelwrights in their carriage' 
manufactory and repair shop nearby. 
A short walk from Milton's business 
section takes one to Milton Hill, which 
is another interesting point connected 
with Massachusetts' early history. 
Here Thomas Hutchinson, last of the 
Royal Governors to rule the British 
Provinces of North America, built his 
residence in 1743 and established that 
exclusive social standard which is still 
a distinct feature of this part of Milton. 
Although well liked by his colonists, 
and a most honorable man, Governor 
Hutchinson was no match for the 
spirit of rebellion which seized his 
people in 1774, and realizing his in- 
adequacy, he abandoned his post and 
went to England, the home of his an- 

J. A. Turner's residence, Central Avenue 



cestors, leaving his Milton Hill house 
in charge of his son. In the turbulent 
times which followed, the property was 
confiscated, however, and falling into 
other hands, the furnishings were later 
sold at public auction. 

In 1812 the property was purchased 
by Barney Smith, one of whose de- 
scendants, Miss Mary Rivers, still owns 
and occupies the mansion. Little of 
the old house remains, however, as re- 
pairs and additions have converted the 
dwelling into a magnificent residence 
of a more modern type, but the beauti- 
ful gardens, with their grass walks and 
ancient trees, are little changed from 
those grounds which were the Gov- 
enor's pride. Just below the west- 
ern entrance a large arbor leads 
into the gardens and out upon the 
principal grass walk. 

From the eastern windows, the view, 
though entirely different, is not less 
striking than that which overlooks the 
gardens, for here nature has formed 
a garden after her own fancy, which 
is seldom outdone by human efforts. 

Down across Hutchinson's Field, 

which the Metropolitan Park Commis- 
sion has purchased for the free use and 
enj'03'ment of the people, the eye 
travels out upon those famous Milton 
Marshes, where at low tide the Nepon- 
set River, strangely sensitive to the 
color of sky and tree, loafs idly among 
the thick grass, as though reluct- 
ant to surrender its burden to wait- 
ing ocean. 

Just beyond the residence of Miss 
Rivers is the home of Miss Dorothy 

Continuing across Milton Hill on 
Adams Street, one passes the Peabody 
estate, the Cunningham estate, and 
several Forbes estates, coming eventu- 
ally to the estate of R. B. Forbes, 
whose father was an extensive trav- 
eler in foreign lands. He imported 
many rare and beautiful ornaments 
from China and at one time topped the 
entire wall which fronts the estate with 
china tiling. Mr. Forbes' china wall 
became famous in Milton and people 
came from a distance to see the unique 
barrier. The present owner of the es- 
tate decided to have it removed later, 

Mills (Nos. i, 2 and 3) oe Walter Baker & Co., Ltd. 



and to-day there is nothing about the 
estate that even suggests its existence. 
Near the settlement of East Milton, 
Adams Street leads into Squantum 
Street, which in turn crosses the tracks 
of the N. Y., N. H. & H. Railroad. 
Right here is another interesting relic 
for the historian, a section of the road- 
bed and a frog from the first railroad 
built in America, which was laid from 
the quarries just over the Quincy line, 
through Milton to the Neponset River 

century, Benjamin Crehore, one of 
those rare individuals who are "Jack 
of all trades" and master -of each, built 
a little shop on the right-hand side of 
Adams Street, a little back from the 
river. Attracting much notice by his 
genius, the manager of an opera com- 
pany about to play at the old Federal 
Street Theatre in Boston brought him 
a battered old bass viol, much needed 
in the orchestra, but so out of repair as 
to be useless, there being no place then 


Blue Hill Meteorological Observatory 

for the transportation of granite in the 
construction of Bunker Hill Monu- 
ment,- stone for which, though quar- 
ried in Quincy, was cut in Milton. 
Unlike the railroads of to-day, the 
ties for this first steel-way were 
of solid granite, laid lengthwise end 
to end, about five feet apart, upon 
which the rails were securely fastened 
with iron pins. 

Tn the latter part of the eighteenth 

in existence where musical instruments 
were repaired. Soon mastering its 
mechanism, Crehore repaired the in- 
strument, making it even better than 
in its original state. This success so 
elated the mechanic that he at once 
began the manufacture of violins, and 
in 1798 succeeded in completing the 
first violin made in this country. 

Turning his attention to larger in- 
struments, he began work upon a piano 



Hau, in Francis Hart residence 

and in 1800 completed the first piano 
made in America. He continued the 
manufacture of pianos for some time, 
until other enterprises claimed his er- 
ratic fancy, when he sold the piano 
business to Allen & Babcock, who built 
a factory upon Washington Street, 
Boston. This came later into the hands 
of Ghickering & Mackey, who lost the 
factory by fire early in the nineteenth 
century, after which Chickering alone 
continued the business, establishing 
that immense factory still standing on 
Tremont Street, and now known as 
Chickering & Son. 

Becoming interested in a student of 
Milton Academy, who had lost a leg 
in the War of 1812 and sought an edu- 
cation to enable himself to gain a liveli- 
hood, Crehore decided to furnish him 
a substitute for the lost limb. After 
some experimenting, he succeeded in 
making a jointed leg, which proved to 
be an efficient aid to the unfortunate 

soldier-student. This was the first arti- 
ficial limb made in the new world. 

A short distance beyond Mattapan 
Square on the Blue Hill Parkway is 
the Leopold Morse Home, founded in 
1888 under the title of Boston Home 
for Aged and Infirm Hebrews. In 
1894 the name was changed in honor of 
the founder, when it was decided to 
gradually convert the institution into 
an orphanage. Although supported in 
the main by the Jewish societies of 
Greater Boston, the home has received 
many endowments from prominent 
members of Hebrew families. 

Another institution, supported by the 
charity of Milton residents, is the Mil- 
ton Convalescent's Home and Hospital 
at East Milton, where the poorest Mil- 
ton residents are treated free of charge 
and accommodation is also given to 
those more fortunate citizens who are 
able and do pay well for care. Situated 
upon rising ground, with its tennis 



Wm, Mason's residence, Adams vStreet 

courts, croquet grounds, and extensive 
woodland pathways, this Home has 
proved a godsend to many a tired 
mother and ailing child. 

Milton contains quarries of fine gran- 
ite, with all her other industries. Mr. 
P. T. Maguire, who has just completed 
that beautiful Pilgrim Monument 
which is attracting so much attention 
at Provincetown, shipped the finest 
stones used in its construction from his 
Milton quarry. 

G. H. Bent's cracker bakery at East 
Milton is a very interesting factory of 
its kind, for here the little water 
cracker so well known to every house- 
keeper is baked in the selfsame manner 
employed by Mr. Bent's ancestor, Jo- 
siah Bent, who made the first crackers 
in America at his home on Highhnd 
Street, Milton, in 1801, later establish- 
ing the factory now owned by the Na- 
tional Buscuit Company at the corner 
of Central Avenue and Elliot Street. 
Old Dutch ovens are heated by burning 
in each a bundle of fagots bought at 
two cents from Milton boys, who 

gather them from the woodlands, after 
which the floors of the ovens are 
thoroughly washed with soft water, 
then covered with the little crackers, 
which are made entirely from flour and 

But the man who really "cuts the 
most ice" in Milton is J. A. Turner, 
whose estate numbering 75 acres is 
situated upon Central Avenue. The 
pretty pond in the rear of his residence 
makes a pleasant variation in the land- 
scape during the warmer seasons, and, 
aided by Jack Frost, yields a rich har- 
vest during the winter months. 

Down among the shops, stores, and 
factories at Milton Lower Mills an old 
house still maintains its original posi- 
tion and form, although it has 
watched the decay and destruction of 
every comrade of its youth. A marble 
slab near its weather-beaten entrance 
tells the story of this, the cradle of 
our liberty. The inscription follows : 

"In this mansion, on the 9th Sep- 
tember, 1774, at the meeting of the 
delegates of every town and district 



in the County of Suffolk, the memor- 
able Suffolk Resolves were adopted. 
They were reported by Maj.-Gen. Jo- 
seph Warren, who fell in their defense 
in the battle of Bunker Hill, June 17th, 
1775. They were approved by the 
members of the Continental Congress 
at Carpenter's Hall, Philadelphia, on 
Sept. 17th. 1774.* The resolves to 
which the immortal Patriot here first 
gave utterance, and the heroic deeds 
of that eventful day on which he fell, 
led the way to American Independ- 

"Posterity will acknowledge that 
virtue which preserved them free and 

This house, built by Daniel Vose, 
is probably the oldest building in Mil- 
ton, still preserved in its original de- 
sign. The old Churchill house on 
Adams Street at the head of Churchill's 
Lane was built in 1740, but has been 
modernized until very little of its 
original architecture remains. 

A large family of Gullivers once 
lived at Algerine Corner, now Union 
Square, East Milton; one of these 
while visiting England told great 
stories of the new world to Dean 
Swift. It is claimed that Swift drew 
his inspiration for "Gulliver's Travels" 
from these exaggerated tales. 

At the corner of Canton Avenue 
and Vose Lane stands the house where 
Mrs. A. D. T. Whitney spent the 
greater part of her married life. All 
of those books which have delighted 
the hearts of girls, as well as grown 
people, were written here. Shortly 
before her death in March, 1906, her 
last book entitled "Biddy's Episodes" 
was published. Mrs. Carolyn Leslie 
Fields, her daughter, also a noted 
author, lived here. 

This same house was once the home 
of that noted soldier, Major-General 
E. V. Sumner, for whom was named 
the Milton Post, G. A. R. 

The orator Wendell Phillips was a 
resident of Milton and now sleeps in 
the Milton Cemetery, as also does Dr. 
William Rimmer, the artist. 

Near the residence of A. H. Hobson, 
on Brook Road, stands the oldest elm 

tree in Milton. Its girth one yard 
from the ground is over twelve feet. 
A red oak near the home of F. E. 
Sanford is over seventeen feet in cir- 
cumference at the same height. 

Two banks find support in Milton, a 
savings bank and the Blue Hill Na- 
tional Bank. Mr. Samuel Gannett is 
president, whose board of directors in- 
cludes several of the most successful 
business men of both Dorchester and 
Milton Lower Mills. 

An enterprising little weekly news- 
paper, edited by Charles F. Marden and 
known as the "Milton Record," occu- 
pies a part of the same building in 
which the banks are located. 

The Blue Hills of Milton are too 
well known to require a description 
here. Much has been written regard- 
ing their attractions. They have 
proved an inspiration to many able 
writers, but so varied and indescrib- 
able are the beauties seen from their 
summit that endless efforts on the part 
of the scribe would still leave a fresh 
subject for his successor. From the top 
of Great Blue Hill one hundred and 
twenty-five towns may be identified by 
a building, light, or mountain, with 
the aid of a glass, which is able to 
pierce the horizon for sixty-eight miles 
inland, as well as reveal the lights on 
Cape Ann, forty miles seaward. This 
fact is the more remarkable when one 
learns that this elevation is only 635 
feet above sea level, yet the highest 
point within ten miles of the coast, 
from southern Maine to Florida. 

Many people believe that the Mete- 
orological Observatory on the peak of 
Great Blue Hill is the property of the 
state, like the surrounding lands which 
were secured to the public in 1894. 
This impression is erroneous, for Mr. 
A. Lawrence Rotch, Meteorological 
Director of Harvard College, estab- 
lished this observatory in 1885 at his 
own expense, maintaining it since that 
time at a cost of $4000 a year. Mr. 
Rotch's residence on Canton Avenue 
in the shadow of the hill which bears 
the monument of his scientific re- 
search, is one of the many beautiful 
homes of this section. 



The estate of the late Ex-Governor 
Wolcott, still occupied by his widow, 
is also situated upon this end of Can- 
ton Avenue. 

Not far from the home of Mr. 
Rotch one comes to a most imposing 
gateway, whose graceful arch of na- 
tural stone forms a connecting link be- 
tween the gatekeeper's lodge and the 
power house. Far up the graveled 
driveway a magnificent stone mansion 
rests contentedly among the velvet 
lawns. W. E. C. Eustice, a noted 
scientist, is its fortunate possessor. 

Many Boston business men reside in 
this quarter of Milton, whose homes 
though modern are yet both beauti- 
ful and artistic. The residence of C. 
E. Guild on Atherton Street is a fair 
example of this type, while the beauti- 
ful gardens surrounding it are un- 
rivaled by any. 

Mr. Francis Hart of Central Avenue 
is another business man whose resi- 
dence is worthy of note, as well as Mr. 
Dudley Talbot of Canton Avenue, 
Lower Mills. 

Milton, with its 7640 inhabitants, can 
boast of one and one-eleventh acres to 
each individual, its wealth in taxable 
property amounting to $23,864,970. 

Just beyond the Blue Hills on the 
southwestern boundary of Milton, a 
little pond smiles up at the observa- 
tory, as though hiding from the land- 
scape artist who accidentally dropped 
it among the thickly grown woodland. 

Wide fields extending from its shore 
towards the mountain bear those 
indisputable marks of the successful 
farmer. Farmer Houghton, who once 
owned this beautiful property and for 
whom the pond was eventually named, 
was also one of the earliest settlers 
in Milton. Although the old home- 
stead has given place to buildings 
better suited to the public, who now 
enjoy the possession of this once fer- 
tile farm and well-stocked pond, many 
fruit trees planted by farmer owners 
still remain. 

Although the Metropolitan Park 
Commission have made many useful 
additions to the facilities for general 
comfort, that strange influence which 
is so strong about abandoned or de- 
molished country homes is plainly felt 
as one saunters idly about the shore 
or meadows, as though the departed 
owners still hovered in spirit over the 
ruined hearthstone, once held so sacred 
to the fires of home. Pleasant groves 
for picnic parties are found upon the 
opposite shore, which are well patron- 
ized when the freedom of a holiday 
turns loose the city's children of toil. 

Merry parties in boats and canoes 
sport about upon the bosom of the tiny 
lake, their laughter echoing from the 
mountains, often rivaling the notes of 
the song bird, until approaching even- 
ing sends them homeward, with happy 
hearts invoking the richest blessings 
upon those favorite parks in Milton. 

Tower tn grounds of A. Lawrence Rotch 

Glen Noble 5 


THE pup — old Mingo's successor 
— was asleep on the wolf-rug 
before the fire, too tired with 
play and his night's lesson with the 
sheep to more than raise his velvety 
head, beat a thump or two on the floor 
with his tail and then, getting a word 
of comradeship, to sink back into 
dreamland with a sigh of contentment. 

Glen drew up a great, leather arm- 
chair to the fire, lit a pipe, and with 
his feet on the fender, took up his unin- 
terrupted train of reflection. 

He knew so well every rod, every 
foot of the outlying territory, that in 
his mind, seated snugly by the fire, he 
could journey here and there, seeing 
every physical object for miles around 
as vividly as though actually visiting 
them. Idly he peopled all the well- 
known localities with the scenes of his 
boyhood, but wherever he went Con- 
stance, the chum of his youth, was 

He winced a little as he thought how 
seldom he had dwelt upon her and her 
fortune during the year and a half 
prior to his experiences in the city; 
how utterly, almost, he had permitted 
her, his old-time playmate, to drift out 
of his mind. He wondered if she had 
been lonesome, had cared at all. He 
tried to put himself in his old time 
relation with her as girl and boy, con- 
tent in each other's company, playing 
over the meadows and vales and to 
conjure if, perhaps, that playmate 
comradeship might have ripened in her 
bosom to a fonder sentiment for him. 

He sighed deeply over the problem 
of his position and leaned forward to 
rap the ashes from his pipe onto the 
hearth. The pup unclosed his deep, 

sentimental eyes and whacked the rug 
companionably with his bushy tail. 

Glen smiled down upon him. "Men 
are strange creatures," he said medi- 
tatively, and the tail thumped twice or 
thrice. "Selfish and inhuman where 
their hearts are concerned, ,, he con- 
tinued, laying his hand on the silken 
head, and the dog kissed the straying 
fingers with his moist, velvety tongue. 

And yet, as he settled back into the 
depths of his chair, Glen felt no self- 
accusement in his heart because, be- 
tween his mind's eye and the mental 
picture of the fair face and form of his 
old-time playmate, gentle and trustful, 
matured to sweetest fullness of young 
womanhood, the face and figure of an- 
other for a moment intervened ; be- 
cause, for an instant, he heard again 
the swish of a silken robe, felt the fra- 
grance of dark, wavy hair and saw the 
bright eyes and crimson, pursed lips Of 
her living anthesis. 

For Glen knew, as well as he knew 
right from wrong, that the infatuation 
he had thought true love, which he 
had borne for that other, was as dead 
in his heart, as beyond resurrection as 
a flower consumed to dead ash in the 

He would still admire her and treas- 
ure her memory ; there would still be 
the charm of her voice in his thoughts 
of her ; her manner, her appearance, her 
winning accomplishments would dwell 
with him. He foresaw, he thought, and 
that without an atom of regret, that 
the time would soon come when Jes- 
sica, her greater self conquering, would 
come to love her husband wholly and 
well — when children should be laid in 
her arms and when the dreams of her 

Copyright, 1908, by Winslow Hall. All rights reserved. 




youth should lie dormant in her heart, 
unforgotten, it may be but potent. 

All that had been was nothing for 
repining. He canvassed them all and 
found nothing for regretting. He 
would share them openly with Con- 
stance; he would leave nothing for 
conjecture, and she, the soul of truth 
and loyalty, might judge him. 

And thus he decided : He would go 
to her openly, frankly, tell her all, 
acknowledging his mistakes and his 
errors. And how much, how very much 
he had to tell ! His heart smote him 
as he thought how he had been robbed 
of opportunity to pour out to her his 
thanks for her devotion and sacrifice 
to him. But he would make it all clear 
to her. Of any suspicion of doubt 
relating to the terrible charge which 
had been brought against him with 
relation to John Carter's death, not an 
iota appealed to him. Any such, any 
memory of that, between these two was 
buried in an abysmal tomb of forget- 
fulness. It was only his waywardness 
of heart, only his forgetfulness of her 
goodness that troubled him. 

But he was too manly to waste time 
in repining. He might regret wha + had 
been, but the consequences of his folly 
he would face boldly. If he was mis- 
taken; if Constance did not care for 
him in the way he hoped; if time and 
his neglect had chilled her affection; if 
there was another — well, he sighed 
deeply. He would take as a soldier 
meets death, as a man takes a man's 
portion, such a blow if it came — take 
it quietly, unflinchingly, and the world 
never should know, for, thank God, 
there are loves as far above mere greed 
for possession, mere lust to be loved 
as heaven from earth ; a love that in 
itself is all-sufficient, that knoweth not 
selfishness and delights in the happi- 
ness of others. 

Glen rose abruptly from his chair 
and passed his hand swiftly across his 
forehead. Then he went into the hall- 
way and calling down to the folks 
below that they might close up the 
house when they were of a mind to, he 
whistled to the puppy and went into 
his bedroom, closing the door upon 

the world and its strange riddles and 
perplexities after him. 


Easter came — a day balmy, golden, 
full of promise. 

Mrs. Marsh, who had been up at 
Doctor Grey's all day, came home at 
supper time and told Glen that Con- 
stance had arrived an hour since and 
had asked for him. 

At the tea table the old housekeeper 
was worried. Glen seemed to have no 
relish for his food. She asked him if 
he was well and he replied "fine" in 
such a boyish treble and looked at her 
with such a depth of mystifying lights 
in his brown eyes, that her fears were 
allayed, but her wonderment deepened. 

So soon as he could, Glen excused 
himself and soon departed from the 
house, dressed as for special occasion 
and whistling softly the chorus from 
II Trovatore. 

He walked across lots, paths he and 
Constance so often had trod together, 
pausing beneath the old, sacred syca- 
more, with its memories; at the clay- 
bank, where they two made pies and 
played at married life ; by the stile, with 
its worn steps, where they had so often 
parted, and it was deep dusk and twi- 
light when he at last reached Doctor 

The doctor was just emerging from 
the doorway onto the side veranda 
as Glen came up. 

"Howdy, Glen!" he cried, catching 
sight of the young man, and there 
seemed, somehow, to be an added 
warmth and pathos in his tone. "Glad 
to see you. Thought you'd be over. 
Jehosophat !" It was the one real heavy 
word that the doctor permitted himself. 
"I most forgot, Glen. We need some 
hearts-ease for the supper table. We 
haven't eaten yet. Won't you get it 
while I shut up the chickens? You'll 
find some in full flower at the end of 
the middle patch in the garden. 

Glen knew well where the pansies 
grew and he moved rapidly down the 
garden lawn. 

At the walk's ending, where the land 
dropped away to the valley and the 



pearly west, Constance was standing", 
looking off to the distant hills. 


Glen's footsteps had been inaudible 
on the pliant turf and he had her in his 
arms before she realized that he was 

She did not struggle. In her heart 
she knew — had guessed for long. 

"Oh, Glen, Glen," was all she could 
say, and she said it with difficulty. 
"You great, big bear. Was it for this 
that " 

"Yes," he interrupted her, "for this." 
And then, holding her close he tried to 
tell her what he had so often planned 
to say ; to pour out to her all his past : 
to make clean his heart of self-resent- 
ment and idle thought; to tell her all 
that had been between Jessica and him- 
self, and then let her judge. But he 
had no more than said Jessica's name 
than her hand that was not captive 
stole up to his shoulder and she turned 
her sweet face up to him. Her eyes 
were brimming, but a smile lit all her 
features. She laid her fingers restiain- 
ingly on his lips. 

"Don't, Glen," she said. "I under- 
stand. She was a dear, sweet girl ; I 
do not blame you. There is nothing 
for me to forgive." 

He could not speak, there was such 
fullness in his heart. He pressed her 
brown head to his shoulder and kissed 
her hair and brow. 

"And you love me, Constance?" 

"Yes, Glen. I always did." 

He raised her dear face and kissed 
her lips, not passionately, but with 
reverence, and then, with his arms 
about her, he led her to the seat by the 
vine-clad trellis. There he drew her 
head down on his shoulder and she 
nestled in his arms like a tired bird, 
safe home after a long day's voyaging. 

"Oh, Glen," she whispered, when he 
would let her, "how I should have 
missed you. Yes, yes," she exclaimed, 
laughing up at him, "must I needs keep 
saying it? Well, well, I love you, I 
love you, I love you. No ; I can never 
tell you how much — can never tell you 
at all if you keep acting that way. 

And then, as they sa f silent, the yel- 

low moon of a sudden pushed her sharp 
prow above the far hills, one brilliant 
star her consort, and flooded the valley 
with her gentle light. Higher the 
barge of the night sea rode, and as the 
darkness lifted, the whole world 
seemed receding, leaving the two 
young lovers alone. 


The simple narrative of Glen Noble, 
a son of New England, is nearly done. 
The larger story of the Silent Con- 
quest, which once was to have been 
our caption, that at times has been sug- 
gested here, may not be written now. 
For it is present history, and Time 
alone may write it as the years go on. 

In coming days, when that great 
author shall finally write "finis" to that 
story, too, my simple one may, per- 
chance, be remembered casually of 
men. Then only, fortified by knowl- 
edge of events, shall they be compe- 
tent to say truly if I in my day builded 
good or ill ; if, in brief, the signs of the 
present time were heeded, and the sons 
of our foresires redeemed their herit- 
age of the soil or lost it utterly by 
default to another race and people. 

A later day and a later season and 
once more and for the last time we 
look abroad over the fair fields round 
about Cass Corners. 

Fair and fertile bask the acres of the 
Carter farm beneath the noontide sun, 
stretching, broad and billowly from 
the honeysuckle shaded porch where 
Glen sits, to far beyond the Corners. 

There, to the southward rears the 
bald top of Sugarloaf, the grand old 
patriarch with its many legends. Yon- 
der, in the gateway of the hills, where, 
in serried ranks, the talking pines are 
marshaled up the careering heights, 
scintillates the silvery ribbon of the 
river, flowing, placid, to the sea. 

Nearer to, where the fruitful, 
watered valley lends a tone of deeper 
greenery to the view, a herd of Ayr- 
shire cows are grazing peacefully, the 
mottled white and bay of their glossy 
sides lending a tinge of quiet anima- 
tion to the scene; and higher up, in a 
stumpy pasture lot, which Glen cleared 



last winter, a drove of Southdown and 
Hampshire sheep add just the needed 
detail to the pastoral scene. 

Sweeping houseward from the val- 
ley, and up to the greensward of the 
lawn, come the tillage lands, fat with 
promise of labor's just reward. The 
south meadow this season is down to 
corn, and its breast-high, even-planted 
stalks form a compact flood of chang- 
ing green, that slightly billows like an 
inland sea, and the dreamy rustle of 
blade on blade comes with the sound 
of a creeping tide on a shelving shore. 
The meadow bordering on the east is 
verdant with the new emerald of just 
started rowan, where a heavy harvest 
of mixed grasses has been garnered and 
stored to the roof-tree in the mammoth 
barn. Everywhere broods peace and 

It is now nearly thrice twelve months 
since the date of the locally famous 
wedding, and the Carter and Noble 
farms have long since been made one 
great possession. And as Glen in the 
rest of the noontide hour looked abroad 
over the acres that he ruled and com- 
pared them with what would probably 
have been his lot had he not, as the 
Major said, been true to his country's 
calling, his heart swelled with grati- 
tude to Providence and his lips 
breathed fervently a prayer of thanks. 

Not that his battles were won and 
over! Far from it. New responsibili- 
ties rose each day; but, as Stevenson 
has said so well : "To travel well is a 
better thing than to arrive, and the 
true success is to labor." 

"It is not meant," wrote one of God's 
noblest noblemen, "that the enjoy- 
ments of life should be few and intense, 
but many and gentle ; and great' happi- 
ness is the sun of a multitude of drops. 
* * * They who are seeking en- 
joyment in remote ways, abandoning 
the very things that make me su- 
premely joyful, a hope of immortality, 
a present and paternal God, the sun, the 
face of the world, the clouds, the t^ees. 
and the birds which keep house in 
them, and the air, the innumerable 
grass. It is not anything that I own ; 
it is no stroke of good fortune, no 

special success that rejoices me. It is 
nothing but the influence of these 
things in which every man has com- 
mon possession — days, nights, forests, 
mountains, atmosphere, universal and 
unmonopolized nature. But having 
eyes they will not see, and ears they 
will not hear, and a heart they will 
not understand. As the old prophet 
touched his servant's eyes, and he be- 
held the mountains filled with the 
angels and chariots of God, and feared 
no more ; so, methinks, if I could bring 
the eager thousands forth who pant 
and strive for joy, only for joy, and un- 
seal their eyes, they should behold and 
know assuredly that happiness was not 
in all the places where they delve and 
vex themselves. In the presence of 
these heavenly hours, riches touched 
with the finger of God, would say, 'Joy 
is not in me.' Fame would say, 'It is 
not in me.' " 

Beecher loved the country and he 
preached the country because of that 
love, but higher and before even his 
devotion to it, prompting most of his 
preaching of it, was a humanitarian 

In Glen's cup of happiness there was 
but one bitterness, and he sighed with 
the pain of regret as his gaze wandered 
across the gray, heavy highway to the 
meadow on its opposite side, where, 
in the centre of luxuriant green, the 
little burial plot lay, its white shafts 
glistening, over which vines tw'ned 
luxuriously, trained by loving hands. 

The Grey and the Carter acres had 
not been united, for the old doctor still 
drove on his rounds, but in his journey- 
ings through the neighborhood on his 
errands of mercy he often, in the heat 
of the long days, dozed in the deep 
hood of his chaise and dreamed of 
the time when they would be. He was 
often a visitor upon Glen and Con- 
stance, and several times since they 
had been married the Major had driven 
over from Ludlow to the farm. 

Upon such occasions, at the conclu- 
sion of a merry repast, he and the doc- 
tor would draw their chairs in the 
shade of the veranda and while away 
the long, dreamy hour 4 ?. The tide of 



undesirable immigration was still 
sweeping- over the country, and the 
native-born were drifting away. These 
conditions the two old patriots dis- 
cussed with animation and their hearts 
were often sore with regret, but they 
had done what they could to better 
the conditions and their solace was to 
be found in that fact. 

Avallonea, the lawyer in name only, 
is in prison, serving a twenty years' 
penalty, imposed by the federal court 
for perjury and false registration under 
the immigration laws. 

Of Clarence Burland little news ever 
came back to these hills. After Bur- 
land senior had been delivered his cer- 
tificate of election for value received, 
and he went to Washington, his famous 
country place changed hands, and the 
ill-reared son never came back to the 
scene of his early escapades. He was 
last heard of vaguely as a participant 
in a Texas feud. 

The summer after she had left home, 
Flora, wedded but deserted, crept back 
to the scene of her girlhood, weary and 
alone. Knowing that she had been 
more sinned against than sinning, Con- 
stance and Glen would have received 
her and offered her a home, but she 
would accept nothing from any of 
them, save the old doctor's ministra- 
tion, and then, silently accepting Glen's 
offer, she laid her dead child by the 
side of the mound where loving ones 
with breaking hearts had lain broken- 
hearted Allan MacLaren that spring, 
and then went away, a silent, remorse- 
ful figure, out into the world. 

Of another, Badessiao, it is fitting 
to tell. He lived to be tortured bv his 
memory only a few months. There 
was no human witness to the manner 
by which fate devised to remove him. 
All that was known of the incident was 
what he told ramblingly. He was found 
one morning in his ramshackle stable, 
bloody, mangled, and nearly dead. He 
had some difficulty wich the worn-out 
horse, which he used a-: a medium for 
venting his bitternes of soul, and had 
attacked it savagely with a pitchfork. 
Goaded by pain beyond further endur- 
ance, the animal had turned on its per- 

secutor and crowded the man into a 
stall, striking and stamping upon him 
until he lay in a swoon. 
■ They carried the victim of his own 
truculence into the house and there 
laid him on a bed. He lingered for 
several hours in torture and then died, 
but before his soul went home he made 
a full confession of his murder of John 
Carter and the statement was dulv wit- 
nessed for presentation to the court. 

The old Copley place, however, was 
not permitted to revert to undesirable 
hands. It was bought by Glen and the 
doctor and brought again to a high 
state of cultivation. Looking about for a 
tenant for the house, Gler< wrote a letter 
to the Stapletons, and both Mrs. Staple- 
ton and Alec were overjoyed at the 
chance to forsake a wolf's hole in a 
city tenement block and get back to 
the country. 

Arrangements were made for them 
to take the buildings and a portion of 
the acreage and work it on snares, and 
once more the widow was back, as she 
termed it, "to God's country." 

Jessica? Ah, yes, Jessica! I had 
almost hoped you would have forgot- 
ten to ask, until I had told my story 
and gone on down the highway of 
time, thanking you for the cheer of 
your company, but hastening on round 
the corner to be lost to identification 
in the busy throng. 

Then you would have speculated and 
chosen that conclusion seemingly the 
most logical because nearest your 
heart. It would scarce have been 
honest to you, you who have so kindly 
let me bide awhile with you for the 
mere return of a little story, imper- 
fectly told. But I was near to risking 
the blame, for, if truth must — and it 
must — abide to the end, 1 — I 

But there is another way up to it! 

You recollect how Hawthorne closes 
the last page of his Blithedale Romance: 
"There is one secret — I have concealed 
it all along, and never meant to let the 
least whisper of it escape — one foolish 
little secret. * * * It is an absurd thing 
for a man in his afternoon * * * 
an absurd thing ever to nave happened. 
* * * But it rises in my throat— so 



let it come. I — I myself — was in love 
— with— Priscilla." 

And so, before that which I had 
rather not write is said, I would have 
hastened away, abashed but relieved, 
and like the paying guest departing, 
who discovers he has been given an 
excess of change, I should have at- 
tempted by the effusivness of my leave- 
taking to have distracted your thoughts 
from a proper reckoning. 

But, and there's the rub ! I might 
want to pass this way again. So I'll 
depart in peace, taking nothing of 
yours with me but friendship's memory. 

It was a week earlier, and Glen was 
seated as now on the vine-shaded 
veranda overlooking the valley of 
peace. The day's work was ended and 
the last shafts of crimson and gold were 
lying on the western hills. The rural 
postman had just brought the mail, 
and a part of it was the daily paper. 
Mechanically Glen spread it out before 

He could not avoid it. There it was, 
splurged out in great, garish headlines : 
"Another divorce in Upper Tendom." 

The heading sufficed. With consum- 
mate art all the hideous details were 
crowded into a dozen or so black- 
lettered lines. Incompatibility was 
alleged. As the laws of New York 
do not recognize that as grounds for 
divorce, the petitioner had gone to Da- 
kota to secure a residence. Glen read 
no more, but the face in the picture 
accompanying the story burned itself 
into his memory. 

Slowly he tore the paper into rib- 
bons and settled back in his chair, let- 
ting his gaze rove down the declivity 
of pasture and meadow, woodland and 
swale, and on up the heights to the 
glory of the sunset beyond. 

All, all spoke of peace, plenty, and 

He shook his strong young frame 
as though waking from a sleep, and 
was about to rise, but the sound of a 
voice from the house restrained him. 

It was the voice of Constance, 
youthful, happy, and sweet, singing 
softly a lullaby. 

"O.r Mammy Coon am huntin' in de dark- 
ness ob de bresh, 
Huntin' fo' a li'l one dat she los'. 
So shut yo' eyes, ma baby, 
Or she sees dem shinin' maybe, 
An' she t'ink dat yo' belong to her, ob 

Dat li'l coon* he sof as silk, and brown as 

Eyes like stars a-twinklin' in de night. 
How she tell de dif'fence 'tween yo', 
Wen in de dusk she's seen yo', 
Less yo' shut yo' eyes an' draw de latch 
string tight? 

But if dey shut, ma baby, den yo' needn't 
be afeard. 

Mammy Coon, she hab to let yo' be. 
She lonesome 'thout her sonny, 
But she 'bliged to trabble, honey, 

'Case I 'ow dis li'l coon belong to me!" 

She moved to where Glen sat and with 
her strong, brown hands that showed 
she was used to out-of-doors, she 
caressed the chestnut locks on his 
forehead as his head lay back. He 
reached up and captured one of the 
little hands and held it a willing pris- 
oner, while he smiled up into her 
laughing eyes. 

"Got that Glen boy to sleep, finally?" 
he asked. 

"Yes," answered Constance, "I gave 
him that cotton mooley cow he's de- 
voted to and he went to sleep with it 
in his arms. The doctor says he's a 
chip of the old block for love of ani- 
mals. I know he is for contrariness." 

He pinched the firm, warm flesh of 
her arm in punishment. 

"Are you happy, dear?" she asked, 
bending her head until her brown hair 
swept his face. 

"Happy, my precious, my wife?" he 
replied. "Yes, very happy. Happy 
in the blessed heritage of toil and the 
strength to do it; happy in a few rare 
friendships ; happy in the sight of 
these glorious, everlasting hills, and 
happy, O, my very own, in your dear 

The End 

NOTE — Readers of the magazine who have foun^ enjoyment in Winslow Hall's story, "Glen Noble," 
as it has appeared in these pages, will undoubtedly be pleased to possess the novel in book form. 
Necessarily the narrative has been considerably cu -tailed to fit it for serial publication, and much 
of the book that is sweet and strong has been unavoidably omitted. In its entirety, this exceptionnl 
story of New England, with its love, adventure, and wholesome sentiment will well repay a rereading. 

—The Editor. 

The Growth of Christian Science 



HEN a great and world-wide 
religious movement reaches 
a certain point in its develop- 
ment it is well for humanity in gen- 
eral, whether of it or outside it, to 
pause for a moment in the mad rush 
after material things and ask what it 
means; to survey it on all sides and 
from all angles impartially; to judge 
whence comes its strength and to esti- 
mate once and for all its appeal to the 
common heart of man. 

All but one of the tidal waves of re- 
ligion that we know to-day have his- 
torical perspective, and can simply and 
easily be accounted for. Judaism, 
Brahminism, Buddhism, Christianity, 
Mohammedism, the Reformation — all 
have long since exhibited their own 
cause for being. Chance had no more 
part in their rising than it has in 
bringing to the gaze of mortals on 
this little spinning-top called the 
world some blazing comet marking 
the heavens with a trail of splendor 
never seen before by human eyes. 
And we are far enough away from the 
inception of them to recognize the 

With that important spiritual and 
moral movement which has arisen 
within a generation and whose remark- 
able and ever-increasing power is a 
part of daily experience, the case is 
somewhat different. We find difficulty 
in seeing the forest because of the 
trees, so that a good many just and 
otherwise fair-minded observers are 
prone to lose their usual sense of per- 
spective in the viewing of a new reli- 
gion. That is why Christian Science, 
the latest and one of the most astonish- 
ing manifestations of mortal awaken- 
ing, arouses a violence of controver- 
sial assault wholly out of proportion 

to the placidity and poise with which 
it proceeds on its way. 

It is not difficult to find reasons for 
this bitterness; one is that the move- 
ment seems to threaten the perma- 
nence of certain special interests; an- 
other that its serene confidence in it- 
self somehow provokes its hotter-tem- 
pered foes to outbursts not wholly ju- 
dicious. But the chief and truest of all 
may justly be said to be, so far as the 
great masses of the people are con- 
cerned, that it is seen very much out 
of focus by those who will not, or can- 
not, sanely adjust their mental lenses. 

But however it is seen, whatever is 
thought of it, Christian Science is a 
present-day, active force that must be 
reckoned with. It is here, and appar- 
ently to stay. It is spreading over the 
whole world. It is drawing to itself 
thousands upon thousands of the un- 
satisfied in other denominations and as 
many more of the altogether un- 
churched. No longer can jeremiads 
from the pulpits of older religious in- 
stitutions drown out its voice ; no more 
is the scorn of the medical profession 
it is so strongly influencing, sufficient 
to lessen its daily accessions of con- 
verts to any appreciable degree. If it 
ever were a theory, it is so no more, 
but a big, powerful, wealthy, highly in- 
tellectual condition that confronts us. 

Therefore, it is no longer the part of 
a sensible man to make faces like a lit- 
tle boy, or for any organization to 
bang on their tom-toms of abuse, hop- 
ing, like those mediaeval Chinese ar- 
mies, to put the enemy to rout by 
mere noise. The Christian Science co- 
horts are curiously indifferent to any- 
thing approaching an attempted stam- 

One day, when a little more of that 


Second Church of Christ, Scientist, Minneapolis, Minn. 



Second Church oe Christ, Scientist, Kansas City, Mo. 

highly essential time-perspective has 
been attained, some historian with a 
keen sense of the romantic in religion 
and the just appreciation of a mental 
concept that appeals to the heart, will 
write the story of the earlier days of 
Christian Science as it should be writ- 
ten. That time has not yet come. But 
even now there is a certain fascination 
in comparing the slender, tentative, 
half discouraging beginning with the 
triumphant facts of 1909. 

Consider that only thirty years ago 
there was only one Christian Science 
Church in all the world — the original 
organization in Boston. Surely a far 
cry, an eloquent passage across the gap 

of time, from those first meetings in a 
little room with rarely more than a 
score in attendance, to the customary 
audiences of thousands in the majestic 
temple that is now the very cathedral 
of the faith, holding in its sheltering 
arms the lesser structure of the Mother 
Church, as dear to Scientists the world 
over as the ark of the covenant to old 

Much has been written and pictured 
of this magnificent church, second to 
none in America for beauty and dig- 
nity, and no further description of its 
architectural strength or its decorative 
skill is needed here. It may well be 
taken to represent Christian Science 



aspiration as the smaller edifice in its 
embrace represents Christian Science 
faith. And more important than the 
mere grandeur of the temple, more typ- 
ical of the Scientists' manner of ac- 
complishing things are the facts that 
the great church was built in two years 
and was free of debt at every stage of 
its construction. From out ten thou- 
sand purses flashed the golden tributes 
of love and gratitude that made this 
achievement unique in the world's his- 

Slowly enough, however, the Chris- 
tian Science movement emerged from 
Boston in its early days. In 1889, ten 
years after the founding of the first or- 
ganization, there were only eleven 
churches to fan into flame the latent 
fires of the faith. But the fanning was 
effective, the blaze ever increasing in 
warmth. A decade more saw three 
hundred and one churches ; at the time 
the great temple in Boston was dedi- 

cated (1906) there were six hundred 
and fifty-seven and two hundred and 
seventy-five societies not organized as 
churches. There is to-day an impres- 
sive total of seven hundred and forty- 
three churches and four hundred and 
forty-one societies, making one thou- 
sand one hundred and eighty-four soci- 
eties holding church services. In al- 
most every important city of the land 
at least one handsome edifice stands as 
a monument to a very genuine affec- 
tion — and in some there are more. 
New York has six Christian Science 
churches, Chicago nine, San Francisco 
three, Denver three, Hartford and New 
Haven two each, Indianapolis two, To- 
peka two, Baltimore two, Minneapolis 
six, Kansas City three, Omaha two, 
Albany two, Brooklyn three, Cleve- 
land three, Portland, Ore., two, Pitts- 
burg two, Providence two, Salt Lake 
City two, Seattle four, and so it goes. 
New churches are organizing from so- 

Ftrst Church oe Christ, Scientist, St. Joseph, Mo. 



First Church of Christ, Scientist, Kaissas Cfiy, Mo. 

cieties constantly, so that statistics of 
this sort can never be quite accurate 
or up to the moment. That fact should 
be kept in mind in the estimate of 
whatever figures are here given. 

In this connection no one who trav- 
els much can fail to note the striving 
for beauty that seems to actuate Chris- 
tian Scientists everywhere. They 
build churches of rare attractiveness ; 
seldom do we find one of bizarre de- 
sign or tawdry decoration, as too 
many of the religious homes of other 
denominations are. By some unex- 
plained subtlety these people, collec- 
tively, at any rate, are endowed with 
the great gift of good taste, so that 
their services for art are very real and 
worthy of the highest praise. There 

is education of the best sort in the no- 
ble auditorium of the temple in Boston, 
or in the exquisite lines of the new 
church in Los Angeles. 

It was said in the beginning of this 
study that Christian Science was 
world-wide. That statement needs no 
qualifying, for it is common knowl- 
edge. Yet it is surprising to find to 
what extent it is true. There is hardly 
a meridian of the globe where a little 
band of believers intensely in earnest 
does not gather together on Sundays 
and Wednesdays to proclaim anew 
their allegiance to the faith. The stolid 
Boer of Johannesburg may witness 
this if he chooses ; the slant-eyed Celes- 
tial of Hong Kong may listen and mar- 
vel ; the little brown folk of the Philip- 



pines are welcome if they like; the In- 
dian of the Saskatchewan is not de- 
barred; the toilers on the Big Ditch 
have the opportunity to read and hear ; 
the German "Herr Doctor," the peon 
of Mexico, the great landed proprietor 
of England, the peasant of Guernsey, 
the gold hunter of Australia, the 
tongue-twisted Welshman, the boule- 
vardier of Paris, the piping Swiss 
shepherd — all may now know that this 
extraordinary thing known as Chris- 

there were but 450 members in the en- 
tire connection. Then began a really 
perceptible onward march. By 1894 
there were 2,536 under the new and at 
that time little understood banner; in 
half a decade more there were some- 
thing over 18,000. To-day the exact 
number is not known. It is certain, 
however, that the natural increase of 
members since 1906, when statistics 
were last collated, has been in the vi- 
cinity of 30 per cent, and as the figures 

First Church oe Christ, Scientist, Cleveland, Ohio 

tian Science is in the world, and not a 
few of them accept it. Is it any won- 
der that the missionizing branches of 
the older churches look with amaze- 
ment on its journeys over the Seven 

No less suggestive and impressive is 
the growth of membership shown by 
the movement. In 1879 there were 26 
adherents of the faith. Ten years did 
little in the way of increase, for in 1889 

at that time were about 72,000 it is 
reasonable to set them at the present 
time in the vicinity of 100,000. This is 
a strict construction, of course, for it 
means actual members of some church. 
When it is considered that there are 
some 500,000 copies of the Christian 
Science text-book outstanding, it is ev- 
ident enough that more than a half 
million human beings are thinking- 
Christian Science, at any rate. 



It is sometimes asserted that the 
men and women drawn to this pow- 
erfully influencing mode of religious 
expression come from what are 
snobbishly called the "upper circles" 
of society. As a general proposition 
that is not true. Even a casual inves- 
tigation of conditions in the vastly 
outnumbering smaller towns where 
there are Christian Science churches 

life. In Washington, for instance, 
which may be taken as a highly repre- 
sentative city, in a congregation of a 
thousand persons, there may always be 
found judges, congressmen, ministers, 
and men of mark in all professions and 
occupations. The movement, then, is 
widely embracing as to the kind of 
men and women it attracts. But it is 
particularly to be noted, that clergy- 

Second Church of Christ, Scientist, New York City, N. Y. 

will show that membership is made up 
of the good, sound, average body of 
citizens, the "plain people" that Lin- 
coln held in his great heart. They are 
well-to-do as a rule, intelligent to a 
noteworthy degree, companionable 
friends, good neighbors. It is also 
true that the churches contain their 
due proportion — perhaps a bit more — 
of men of distinction in all walks of 

men and physicians, who might be 
considered to be most unlikely to be 
affected, are coming to it in ever-in- 
creasing numbers each year. 

Statistics are notoriously dusty 
things, but the following table may 
well be considered as out of the or- 
dinary category. It was compiled 
for the New England Magazine, and 
contains facts obtained from the di- 



rectory of the Christian Science Jour- 
nal : 

Societies, rooms. 

1 i 

2 I 

i i 

— 4 
— ■ i 

2 4 

25 37 

— 2 



Africa 1 

Asia — , 

South America. — 

Australia 4 

France 1 

Germany 3 

Great Britain. . 17 

Ireland 2 

Scotland 2 

Wales — 

Holland 1 

Italy — 

Norway — ■ 

Sweden — 

Switzerland.. . . — 

Bahama Islands — 

Mexico 1 

Panama — 

Porto Rico — 

Canada 23 

United States.. 688 

Total 743 





One of the most significant features 
of the Christian Science movement, 
and surely not one of the least influ- 
encing, is the maintaining of reading 
rooms all over the world. They are 
purposely made attractive, say the 
critics of the organization, in order to 
work upon the mind of the chance out- 
sider who strays in and likes the ap- 
pearance of things. Very likely. If it 
be an offense to provide restful, com- 
lortable, tastefully equipped places 
where men and women may escape 
for a moment from the uproar of the 
outside life and are sincerely wel- 
comed, then the other denominations 
ought to be more guilty of it than they 

Here is an important element in the 
strength of Christian Science: It 
throws itself and its influence straight 
into the daily existence of people, you 
may call it a brilliant stroke of policy 
or the natural outcome of the spirit 
with which the movement is endowed ; 
in either case you must recognize the 
vitalizing power that lies in such a 

Proposed Church of Christ, Scientist, Baltimore, Md, 



course and note that it is accomplish- 
ing wonders. 

The same marvels of growth noted 
elsewhere are found in the develop- 
ment of these reading rooms. Begin- 
ning their existence not so very many 
years ago, there are now some 900 of 
them dotted over every land where civ- 
ilization has achieved sway, and even 
in some where savagery comes rather 
close to its boundaries. In their social 
power they may be almost classed as 
clubs where fees are unknown and 
comforts are to be had for the asking. 

In the face of such gigantic strides 
in all ways that make for better organ- 
ization and increased numbers, it is not 
at all strange that the average Chris- 
tian Scientist will not argue — at least, 
to the extent of heated controversy — 
as to the triumphant advance of his 
church. He prefers to point to self- 
evident facts; he will correct the 
sometimes expressed opinion that the 
movement has ceased growing, for he 
knows that during the past three years 
the rate of increase in churches, re- 
sources, and membership has been over 
30 per cent. And you must agree with 
him, because he has or can easily get 
the facts that will convince you. 

Perhaps, as a finishing touch of con- 
viction, he will take you to one of those 
extraordinary and not long ago ut- 
terly undreamed of Wednesday even- 
ing "testimony" meetings in the Bos- 
ton temple, where an audience of four 
or five thousand persons gathers in an 
atmosphere of the most intense enthu- 
siasm and listens to the earnest, often 
eloquent, words of scores who rejoice 
in the opportunity of telling how sure 
they are of the blessings of Christian 
Science, mental, moral and physical. 
No man from the outside, not even the 
most pronounced Philistine and sceptic 
of them all, can remain wholly un- 
moved in the spirit of that splendid 
scene. No man can come out from one 
of the great church's beautiful door- 
ways and under the stars deny the in- 
herent strength of this new religion. 

There is one phase of Christian 
Science as it affects the lives of men 

that is not recognized as it should be, 
even by those friendly enough disposed 
to the movement. That is its abso- 
lutely proven power to raise the fallen 
and put them into paths of decency and 
right living. How many long-time vic- 
tims of the alcohol fiend have been 
fairly lifted from the gutter and made 
over into self-respecting, successful 
members of society by this influence 
no one can begin to compute. But 
probably all of us know of cases, some 
of them truly startling in their con- 
trasts. Before — a common drunkard, 
despised of men, grovelling in pov- 
erty, hopeless of release; now — a pros- 
perous business man, free from the 
curse, clean of life, happy in the 
change. That is a familiar story of 
what Christian Science can do and is 
doing in always increasing instances. 
When liquor and drugs are forced to 
retire beaten from the fight for a man's 
soul, the on-looking world owes to it- 
self to ask how it is done. Done it surely 
is. Scientists in authority can give great 
numbers of instances of complete and 
lasting reform in the lives of those who 
once seemed to have nothing to look 
forward to — and they might be given 
here, also, save that facts need cata- 

Another very visible and mighty 
sign of the onrush of the faith is the 
increase in numbers and circulation of 
its publications. For years the Chris- 
tian Science Journal was the sole regu- 
larly printed representative of the 
movement, and its circulation was 
slender. Now there are in addition the 
Christian Science Sentinel, a weekly 
for the home; the Christian Science 
Quarterly, containing the lesson-ser- 
mons read at the Sunday services 
throughout the year; Der Herold Der 
Christian Science, printed in German, 
as its title signifies, and the Christian 
Science Monitor, the daily newspaper 
whose extraordinary success within the 
year has been the wonder of the jour- 
nalistic world. This paper and the pe- 
riodicals mentioned cross the oceans to 
every known portion of the globe; the 
ingenious mailing machines in the fine 



publication quarters of the society in 
Boston have quite as keen a knowledge 
of geography, in their way, as any 
teacher in the schools. And swiftly as 
their work is done, there is always 
more for them to attempt. 

One thing more in connection with 
the extraordinary growth of Christian 
Science. Just as surely as the spring 
sun coaxes forth the blades of grass 
and the budding flowers, so surely is it 
affecting very materially schools of 
thought and practice long bitterly op- 
posed to it. Many clergymen are com- 
ing under its gentle sway; yes, but 
more than that, and far more signifi- 
cant for the future, those preachers 
who remain anchored to their old faith 
are changing the slant of their sails. 
One does not need to be an expert in 
spiritual matters to see that more and 
more in pulpits of the long-established 
denominations are heard utterances 
showing the influence of Christian 
Science tenets. And what is as fully 
significant, perhaps, the rasping denun- 
ciations of the new spiritual movement 
are heard no more. It is almost fully 
recognized that Christian Science is 
not a subversion of Christianity, but a 
form of Christianity that surely makes 
its professors better and happier indi- 

No less is the practice of medicine 
being vitally influenced by this new 
belief as to the treatment of diseases. 
Drugging is going out of favor more 

and more, even by those who once con- 
ceived that all physical welfare re- 
volved around ipecac and calomel. 
With increasing force the mental part 
of cure is being insisted upon, and the 
purer elements of materiality, air, sun- 
light, exercise, cheerful surroundings 
are climbing above the older forms of 
materia medica. Eminent professors 
of medical schools are inveighing 
against the customary pouring of 
drugs and poisons down people's 
throats. Everywhere there is a great 
reaction against old methods. W T hat 
has done it? Can any one doubt? Is 
it a mere coincidence that the new idea 
has suddenly sprung into being with 
the rise of Christian Science? If so it 
is a happy meeting of chance events. 

No one with half a mind for the 
value of social signs can believe for a 
moment that Christian Science has 
even begun to approach the limits of 
its influence and strength. The con- 
stant increase in all of the elements 
that make it powerful would preclude 
any such judgment as that. W T hen 
men and women come to a movement 
of the sort without proselyting — and 
that lack is typical of Christian Science 
— there is shown a vitality that gives 
no evidence of decadence. "I would 
not urge a single human being to come 
into the movement," said a prominent 
Scientist the other day. But they 
come without urging. Therein lies the 


The Test of the Unforeseen 



FROM an almost impenetrable 
cloud of dust blown onward 
down the road by the stiff sea 
breeze, emerged a big brown roadster 
which bowled along at a rapid pace un- 
der the skilful guidance of its sole 
occupant, a young man at the wheel, 
and drew up to the Cliff House piazza. 

If Grace Spofford had heard the au- 
tomobile approach she showed no con- 
sciousness of it, and the few guests 
promenading the wide hotel piazza 
who smiled questioningly in her 
direction certainly did not have the 
satisfaction of knowing how dis- 
criminating her little ear had become 
in detecting the sounds characteristic 
of different motors. As the exhaust 
from the approaching car was muffled 
much more than that of any motor 
with which she was familiar she con- 
tinued the discussion of plans for the 
afternoon sail with the group of rela- 
tives and friends that could usually 
be found in an animated, jolly circle 
about her. She turned quickly, how- 
ever, as the big car was brought to 
a halt near her and the driver began 
to gaze anxiously through his goggles 
along the piazza, as if searching for 
some one. 

"Good morning to you, Mr. Burn- 
ham, and your big road roller," she 
said gaily, leaning over the balustrade. 
"Won't you take off that disguise and 
come up here with us?" 
# "Thank you," he replied, "but I'm 
just trying my new car and I thought 
you might like to take the initial trip 
with me." 

"Another new one!" she exclaimed, 
reprovingly. "What can you do with 
more than one, I should like to know, 
and how can anybody feel safe to take 

a walk with that great silent monster 
rushing along the narrow roads? It's 
easy to understand your reason for 
wearing those horrid things, Mr. Burn- 

"Please inform me?" he asked oblig- 
ingly, as he removed cap and goggles, 
revealing a manly face, bright eyes, 
and the firm chin and square jaw that 
make for achievement. 

"Because if you should ever kill any- 
body his friends could never identify 
you," she explained with amusement 
in her eyes. 

"Your insight regarding the motives 
of the human mind is most keen," he 
said gravely, with a low bow. 

"Thank you," she retorted, mocking- 
ly. Then with an entire change of 
mood she continued, "I should be de- 
lighted to go. I won't keep you wait- 
ing but a minute." 

It was five minutes later, however, 
before she appeared, clad in a long dust 
coat and wind veil. Burnham carefully 
assisted her into the seat, then jumped 
in beside her and they were off down 
the road in a swirl of dust, the horn 
belching forth brazen notes of warn- 
ing meanwhile. 

"This is certainly becoming pa- 
thetic," said Mrs. Spofford to her hus- 
band, who was looking with interest 
toward the thick cloud of dust in the 

"Well, Burnham certainly wins this 
time," commented Mr. Spofford, taking 
up his morning paper, "and as far as 
I'm concerned he'll make a very satis- 
factory son-in-law. A rare combina- 
tion, my dear. George has the money 
to make a fine home for Grace, and, 
more than that, he's a nice young fel- 
low in every way." 

"And so is Robert Hamilton," hast- 
ily interposed his wife. "Both are 




such fine fellows that I sometimes 
think it would almost break my heart 
if either is rejected." 

"My sentiments exactly, but bigamy 
has never been regarded as quite the 
proper thing, Augusta." 

"Don't be vulgar, Jim," reproved 
Mrs. Spofford. 

"Both cannot win, of course, and 
we may as well pick our favorites," 
urged her husband, in conciliating 
tones. "A capitalist is a great induce- 
ment," he added, after a slight pause. 

Mrs. Spofford was as anxious as 
ever to champion her sex. 

"How sordid you are, Jim. Doubt- 
less Grace gives due consideration to 
his money. She would hardly be hu- 
man otherwise. But I know she likes 
Mr. Hamilton and he's not so very 
poor. His last two novels are very 
creditable and should have the suc- 
cess they deserve. Grace is just the 
sort of girl for such a man, and she 
has been so associated with me in my 
literary work that their tastes will be 
exactly alike. Both will have the 
same thoughts and the same emotions. 
Writers are not so horrid and prac- 
tical as to give greater consideration for 
a man's money than for his qualities as 
an ideal companion. Think what in- 
spiration they would be for each other ! 
It would be a charming match, you 
know it would." 

"Certainly, my dear," said Mr. Spof- 
ford without enthusiasm as he re- 
sumed his reading rather than carry 
the argument further. He well knew 
that his wife must be the acknowledged 
victor of every domestic discussion, 
for she ruled quite as supremely at 
home as he did in his office on Wall 
Street. Nevertheless, he felt that a 
match between Grace and Robert 
Hamilton would be far too ideal to 
be a success ; that they would become 
bored by the very similarity of their 
tastes. He wanted Grace to be happy 
and realized that the financial element, 
while not the first consideration, 
should not be ignored entirely. More- 
over, he thought he knew a man when 
he met one and he was sure that he 
saw evidences of the same instinctive 

feeling in his daughter's manner to- 
ward Burnham. In a supreme test 
he was confident Burnham would not 
be found wanting; Hamilton he was 
not so sure of. 

"Jim," said Mrs. Spofford, after a 
long silence, "you know Mr. Hamilton 
wrote that he hoped to get back last 
night and I feel sure he will call to 
see Grace this morning. I think it 
rather unkind of her to go off with 
George Burnham. She saw Mr. Ham- 
ilton's letter and it will be such a dis- 
appointment after being in the city 
two weeks. It seems to me — " 

She stopped abruptly as Mr. Hamil- 
ton himself approached from the din- 
ing-room and, learning that Grace was 
out, invited her father and mother to 
enjoy a drive with him in the cool 
morning air. 


It is probable that Grace felt a little 
regret as well as happiness as she 
stepped into the big roadster, for she 
had not forgotten the probable re- 
turn of Robert Hamilton and she 
could easily imagine his disappoint- 
ment at not finding her that morning. 
Of course he might not come, and au- 
tomobile driving with her, as with 
most young women, was a passion not 
held in subjection without difficulty. 
Besides, Robert was stopping at the 
same hotel, so she could see him that 
afternoon when they might perhaps 
go for a sail down the bay. 

There is an exhilaration ever attend- 
ant upon swift motion that soon lays 
a firm hold on the senses, and this 
with the comfort of the wide leather 
seat and her growing admiration of 
her companion soon dimmed all else 
save the enjoyment of the present 
moment. She liked Burnham very 
well indeed and greatly admired 
him. Yes, there was no question- 
ing that. His fine, manly figure and 
clean-cut, wholesome face, quite boy- 
ish in expression, were handsome even 
in automobile clothes. She looked at 
him from time to time, watching his 
eyes glancing here and there to make 
sure that every part of the big machine 



was working properly, and as she 
looked she began to realize that there 
were few men who could look so well in 
a slimpsy auto coat, goggles, and a 
small cap pulled firmly over the head. 

"What a beauty!" exclaimed the 

"It just suits me," said Burnham, 
"it was made to order from my own de- 

"Only two can ride, I see. I thought 
it was to be a touring car." 

"So it is — for two," and he smiled, 
"with fine baggage capacity back of 
the seat." 

"What an enormous one, too. Is it 

"It's something of a racer, Miss 
Spofford, but with all the comforts of 
a touring car. Sixty horse-power, good 
for sixty miles an hour on good roads." 

"Splendid ! Won't you teach me to 
drive it sometime? I'd love to." Her 
head bent forward and she looked at 
him questioningly. "You will?" per- 

"To be sure I will," he replied, "if 
you wish it. Shall we begin to-mor- 
row afternoon?" 

"I'll be ready," she replied, with ani- 
mation. "Now, that's settled. From 
here to Great Head on the Beach Road 
there is six miles of good macadam 
and probably no one on it as. early as 
this. How quickly can we make it?" 

"Reckless little woman ! You like 
to drive fast?" 

"I love it." 

"Hold hard to your seat," he warned. 

The car jumped forward as he ad- 
vanced the throttle, leaning low over 
the wheel, meantime with his eyes 
fixed on the stretch of road ahead. The 
girl almost involuntarily crouched to- 
ward him. There seemed to be no 
noise, wind, or anything to distract 
the attention from the gray streak of 
road upon which she gazed intently, 
and along the sides of which flew 
fences, occasional trees and clumps of 
bushes, and were gone before they 
could be recognized one from the other. 
Nothing seemed to occupy her mind 
but the thought that of a sudden one 
of those blurred objects might be 

directly ahead in the road instead of 
along its sides. As this thought grew 
upon her, it seemed as if she could not 
bear it. She tried to speak, but could 

Suddenly they flew around a wide 
curve and there beyond, entirely un- 
conscious of the approaching danger, 
was a little child at play in the middle 
of the road. Grace nearly stopped 
breathing and closed her eyes to shut 
out the horrible thing she expected 
would happen. The horn gave forth a 
belated warning. Instinctively she 
grasped the handles on her seat with 
all her strength and braced her feet 
as if trying in some way with the little 
force she was able to exert to stop the 
onward rush of the heavy car. It was 
fortunate for her that she did so, for 
she was almost wrenched from her 
seat when a moment later the big road- 
ster lurched to one side and shot by the 
frightened little fellow, the outside 
wheels passing along the very edge of 
a deep stone culvert. 

It was not until they were safely 
back in the road again and running at 
slow speed that either spoke or really 
began to breath freely again, but the 
girl thrilled from head to foot at the 
thought of such masterful control and 
daring. The man's face looked pale 
and tense when he stopped in the shade 
of a big apple tree and removed his 

"If anything had happened to you 
or that little fellow back there, I could 
never have forgiven myself," he said, 
hoarsely. "Were you hurt by the sud- 
den lurch?" he continued, anxiously. 

"Not in the least, but I must confess 
I was terribly frightened." 

"No wonder," he ejaculated. "I 
never should have taken that curve so 
fast. It was the most careless thing 
I ever did." After a pause he con- 
tinued, with a rueful smile, "I'm 
afraid I've made a very bad beginning. 
You see I'd intended to-day to ask 
you to entrust your happiness to my 
safe keeping as the future Mrs. Burn- 
ham, and now see how careless I've 
been. But you must have known how 
I love you, Grace. I want you, need 



you, dear, to make life worth living, 
and I've sometimes thought just for 
a moment that you cared the same 
for me — of course I wasn't sure." 

"I've never thought you careless," said 
Grace evasively, after a pause. Her 
words sounded kind and gracious, but 
there was in them a tone of remoteness 
he had not expected. Looking into her 
eyes as he talked to her he thought 
at first he saw there momentarily the 
light of a great happiness ; then a look 
of abstraction came into them as if 
another thought took possession of her 
mind; and this in turn changed as her 
usual tantalizing humor made its ap- 
pearance again. Perhaps, he thought, 
this explained her evasive answer. 

"Won't you try me?" he urged, smil- 

"You've done me the highest honor 
in your power and I fully appreciate all 
it means and thank you," she replied, 
more seriously, "but do not ask an 
immediate answer. Our experience 
this morning has upset me a little and 
I can't think clearly. Give me until — 
let me see — until to-morrow — when I 
become your chauffeur," she finished, 

"Chauffeur for life, I hope," he said, 


Two days later found Robert Hamil- 
ton up betimes in the morning; that 
is to say, long before the other hotel 
guests had thought of such a thing. 
It was no newly acquired habit with 
him, for he loved the open — the great 
outdoors ; he loved the restless, ever- 
changing sea, and these are best in the 
early morning. After the humidity 
of the city in midsummer the cool air 
laden with dew, the salt sea breeze, 
the singing of birds, the sweet scents of 
hay-making, of flowers, and, above all, 
the freedom to come and go at will 
made life seem glorious. 

Two busy weeks in the city forced 
upon him by the details of dramatizing 
his latest novel, interspersed with the 
writing of a few short stories and fol- 
lowed in alternation by a few days at 

the seashore had been his life program 
through the summer. Reporters, curi- 
ous about the new play, had not helped 
to make his summer an easy one, but 
he needed every word they would 
write to assist in keeping him before 
the public. Literary success was very 
pleasing, especially after the struggle 
he had been through to attain it, but 
the enjoyment of outdoor life seemed 
even more gratifying just then. 

Strolling toward the hotel wharf 
Robert seated himself on the steps 
leading down to the float, inhaling deep 
breaths of the cool salt air as he 
watched the little white boats at their 
moorings here and there on the bay. 
It was not long before his attention 
was attracted by a young woman rais- 
ing a sail on a neat sloop nearby, which 
quickly came about and made for the 
wharf. It was a beautiful little craft 
with spotless sails suggestive of the 
wings of some great sea bird, but Rob- 
ert's attention went not to the sloop 
itself but to the girl who sailed it. 
Her graceful beauty as she stood, one 
hand occupied with the tiller the other 
holding the sheet, and her apparent 
confidence in herself as a skipper, 
aroused Robert's admiration in a man- 
ner too spontaneous and genuine to be 

He stood ready to fend off the bow 
as the boat reached the float, calling 
cheerily, "Good morning, Cap'n." 

"Good morning, Mr. Hamilton ; won't 
you tie her up while I pump out last 
night's shower? You might wet those 
spotless shoes if you came aboard," she 
laughed merrily, throwing him a rope. 

Robert made a half hitch over a 
wooden cleat on the float and then 
looked down inquiringly at Grace. 

"How about your own?" he asked. 

"I haven't shipped a drop and I've 
been out half an hour already." With 
this she began pumping, the muscles 
outlining themselves under the brown 
skin with charming boldness as she 

"One can find you out here almost 
before light. Seriously, Miss Spofford, 
do you ever sleep?" 

"Lots. Come down here and take 



a turn. What are men made for I'd 
like to know. That for not getting 
up earlier/' she cried, commandingly, 
giving up her place at the pump. 

Although plying the handle vigor- 
ously Robert's eyes followed the girl 
sturdily hauling up the sail preparatory 
for getting under way. Certainly no 
other women of his acquaintance were 
tanned so brown; of this the low-cut 
yoke of her linen dress with its short 
sleeves gave ample proof. Most mem- 
bers of the fair sex who had come 
under his observation gave constant 
thought to their pink and white com- 
plexions, preserving them as best they 
might with sun hats, veils, powders, 
and lotions. But this girl was differ- 
ent; she seemed almost a part of the 
great outdoors to which her whole be- 
ing seemed to respond; she loved the 
sunshine and was proud of the tan. 
The sail hoisted, she stood out on the 
bow, one arm clasped tightly about the 
mast for support, her head thrown 
back and a dreamy, far-away smile on 
her lips, her eyes on the distant blue 
horizon. The big sail, which had shad- 
owed her before, slowly shifted a little 
with a change of the wind and she 
stood irradiated in sunlight, her brown 
hair bright with countless shades of 
dark amber. Robert drew in his breath 
sharply; it was the most beautiful pic- 
ture he had ever seen. Could she ever 
have appealed to anybody else as she 
did to him that moment? Instantly he 
thought of George Burnham, but their 
friendship had always seemed too ob- 
viously platonic to be considered seri- 
ously because of several years' dura- 
tion. He suddenly became aware that 
the object of his musings was smiling 
down upon him as he sat in the cockpit, 
the pump handle motionless in his 

"A penny for your thoughts; you 
look worried." Her blue eyes danced 
with merriment like the waves about 
her sparkling in reflected light. Per- 
haps she had already divined some- 
thing of his thoughts. 

"Is this enforced hard labor to be 
rewarded by a sail?" he asked, eva- 

"All true Americans answer one 
question by asking another," she re- 
plied, with equal evasiveness. 

"Do they?" 

"There, what did I tell you!" she 
laughed. "Caught the first time. You 
deserve a disappointment for not being 
out earlier," she continued, reprov- 
ingly, "but I forgive you this once. I 
thought you were not coming at all. 
Everybody seems to fail me lately. 
Even Mr. Burnham, who promised to 
teach me to drive his roadster yester- 
day afternoon, has not been seen at the 
hotel since the day before. How 
could he have done so?" 

She took her place at the tiller while 
he cast off. The sail filled with the 
fresh breeze and the little craft sped 
merrily down the bay. Robert seated 
himself opposite her, continuing the 

"Haven't you heard?" he asked. 

"No. What do you mean?" Her 
face became serious at once. 

"I dislike very much to be the one 
to tell you, Miss Spofford. I thought, 
of course, you knew. It seems he got 
a wire night before last telling him that 
owing to a slump in Wall Street the 
Burnham Iron Company has failed. 
He and his father are penniless. I'm 
sorry for the poor fellow; it's rough 
on a chap who expected millions. He 
took it like a man, though, and says 
he will sell all his horses and automo- 
biles, as well as some real estate to 
help cover the debts. He and his 
father have both got the stuff in them 
that makes for success, and I feel sure 
that they will win out yet." 

She uttered not a word, but the sail 
was continued in silence, each wrapped 
in thought and waiting for a word from 
the other. They were far down the 
bay now with nothing to break the 
silence but the gurgling of the water 
under the keel and the thumping of 
the waves against the bow. 

"Most breakfast time," said Robert, 
finally consulting his watch. 

She threw over the tiller and the 
boat quickly came about. "I almost 
wish we weren't going back," she 



"Let's make believe we aren't," he 
answered, and then there was silence 

"I wonder if it means to you what it 
does to me?" he found himself saying 
after a while. "All the hurry and 
worry of the world behind us and that 
vast mysterious dimness of conjecture 
and dreams stretching out ahead. It 
goes down into my soul and encourages 
me to attempt all manner of things 
possible and impossible." 

"I think it goes down into my soul, 
too, for it always makes me feel small 
and worthless and mean. Tell me 
some of the fine things you would 

"Well," he said, looking directly into 
the shining eyes opposite him, "if I 
only had the courage, I should take the 
tiller and we would sail away, you and 
I, out of the bay over the sea of dreams, 
far beyond the horizon into another 
kingdom — my kingdom — where there 
is nothing but happiness and the sun- 
shine you and I love so well. Every 
man has such a kingdom. They are 
all beautiful countries, but so hard to 
find that unless there is mutual love 
between himself and his companion 
the boat is likely to be wrecked on the 
rocks. I think you and I could find 
the course and that the voyage would 
be a safe and happy one. Will you 
help me find my kingdom of happiness, 

"Really, Mr. Hamilton," she said 
after a pause, blushing bewitchingly, "I 
don't know what to say to you. I 
hadn't realized before that our friend- 
ship meant so much to you. I appreci- 
ate your interest in me, though, and 
feel sure that it is sincere, but I must 
have time to think — it is such an im- 
portant step. May I withhold my an- 
swi until Friday?" she asked, smil- 

"On condition that I teach you to 
drive my touring car that day, since 
you were disappointed about Mr. Burn- 
ham's," replied Robert. "I must go to 
the city that morning and the drive in 
and back should teach you all you need 
to know." 

"Agreed," she said. 


It was scarcely eight o'clock on the 
Friday morning after receiving news 
of his father's misfortune that George 
Burnham appeared at the office of the 
Burnham Iron Company. Such a 
condition of affairs as now existed gave 
him no heart for the gaiety of sum- 
mer hotel life. He at once broke the 
news to his mother as gently as pos- 
sible and they had both returned to 
the city that night ; she to comfort and 
encourage a husband in distress, he 
to do what he could for the "poor old 
Governor." He realized at once that 
the support of his young shoulders 
would mean more to his father just 
then than ever before, and perhaps to- 
gether they might put up a successful 
fight. If not he must go to work at 
something right away. He did not 
mind the work, but he knew that things 
must be sold, and he loved his horses 
and automobiles. Then there was 
Grace ! He tried not to think of all the 
disappointment that name suggested in 
his present circumstances, but his mind 
would drift back to her and his broken 
appointment. She would, of course, 
hear of his misfortune and understand, 
he thought, and perhaps even yet his 
dearest hopes might be realized. 

A glance out of the window near 
the desk where he sat presented a pic- 
ture that was unquestionably disquiet- 
ing. A big dark blue touring car carry- 
ing two persons passed rapidly down 
the street. The man was Robert Ham- 
ilton, and Grace Spofford sitting be- 
side him was driving the car under his 
watchful eye and occasional instruc- 
tions. George stepped to the overhang- 
ing bay window where he could watch 
them some little distance down the 
street. When almost out of sight the 
driver made an abrupt turn and 
brought the car to a sudden stop by 
the curb. He saw Robert enter an 
office building, leaving Grace in her 

George continued to gaze abstract- 
edly out of the open window, wrapped 
in a new chain of thought suggested by 
the scene before him. Suddenly he 



saw the car start and race along the 
street toward him at fearful speed, the 
girl working in a frenzy at the wheel 
to dodge the teams in her path. While 
alone in the car Grace had been try- 
ing the effect of different pedals and 
levers, when she had unexpectedly 
started the car and in her surprise had 
completely lost her head as well as en- 
tire control of the big car. So far she 
had successfully avoided any disaster, 
but that could not be hoped for in 
the jam of trolley cars at the next 
cross street, and a collision there 
meant almost certain death to her and 
perhaps to others. 

Without thinking of the door, George 
leaped through the window and ran 
with all his strength, wondering 
meantime why the brake failed to work. 
Could he have seen he would have un- 
derstood, for the girl in her excitement 
was frantically pressing not the brake 
but the speed pedal, and the more 
force she exerted the faster the car 
jumped ahead. It was almost abreast 
of him now and he ran heroically, pre- 
paring himself for a mighty leap as it 
dashed past. Then he jumped with 
outstretched hands toward the clutch 
lever at the side. His whole body was 
snatched from the ground; it seemed 
as if his arms were being severed from 
his shoulders; his feet beat painfully 
over the rough pavements, but he 
kept his hold and succeeded in bracing 
one knee against the running board. 
Then with one last effort he reached 
up to the release and threw out the 
clutch, grasping and with his own 
weight pulling down the brake lever 
as he fell back to the street. Again 
he was dragged along as before, too 
feeble to help himself, but determined 
not to let go. He heard the grind and 
shriek of the brake band and won- 
dered vaguely if he were in time, 

then everything suddenly became 
dark and he dropped motionless in the 


A few days later Robert Hamilton 
received the good news that he might 
see George at the hospital. He was 
about to enter the door indicated by 
the matron when he heard the soft, low 
voice of a woman — a very familiar 
voice — and he hesitated outside the 
partly closed door. 

"It's one's manner of meeting the 
unforeseen that proves real manhood," 
Grace was saying, "and I have double 
proof that you are brave and true. I 
want to marry a man who does such 
things, George dear." 

Robert waited to hear no more, but 
retraced his steps down the corridor, 
smiling sadly. 

"Don't say that," pleaded George. 
"It's out of pity because I'm down, and 
I don't want that. You've got money 
in your own right, you must remember, 
and you can't marry a poor fellow like 
me. Why, Grace, I haven't a cent ex- 
cept what I can earn by going to work 
as soon as I get out of here. What 
would the world say — your world?" 

"Who would care ! If I had nothing 
and you only a salary, however small, 
it would be enough." Her cheeks 
flamed; she hid her face, but went 
bravely on after a moment. "But you 
don't understand at all, dear. I sup- 
pose I must be brazen enough to tell 
you that I would rather have you 
penniless than any other man with 
millions, and — George ! Stop this min- 
ute — somebody will surely come in 
here and see you !" 

He had put an arm about her and 
drawn her face down to his on the pil- 

The Cattle Industry of Boston 


THE cattle brought into Boston 
from the West, and the cattle 
shipped from Boston to Great 
Britain, are among the standard arti- 
cles of the city's commerce; and the 
business within the last few years has 
attained to considerable proportions, 
both as regards numbers and valua- 

The great range country, where 
most of the beef cattle are raised, ex- 
tends from Texas on the south, up into 
Canada on the north, and from the 
Missouri river, on the east, to the Pa- 
cific slope of the Rocky mountains, on 
the west. A large proportion of the 
cattle are fattened in the great corn 
belt of eastern Nebraska, Iowa, Mis- 
souri, Illinois, etc., the distributing 
point being Chicago, from which point 
the cattle are shipped by rail to the 
export cities of Baltimore, Philadel- 
phia, New York, Boston, Portland, and 
Montreal, cattle from Canada being 
shipped from the last three ports. 

The receipts of cattle in Boston from 
January I, 1907, to January 1, 1909, 
and the exports of cattle from January 
1, 1907, to August 17, 1909, are: 1907, 
receipts 243,705, exports 126,568; 1908, 
receipts 189,731, exports 114,493; 1909, 
exports 69,553. 

The ports where these cattle are re- 
ceived are Liverpool, London, Man- 
chester, and Glasgow. The number of 
cattle carried on the steamers from 
January 1, 1908, to August 17, 1909, 
are: Cattle received 1907, 243,705; 
cattle received 1908, 189,731; total, 
433436. Cattle exported 1907, 126,568; 
cattle exported 1908, 114,493; cattle ex- 
ported to August 17, 1909, 69,553; to- 
tal, including one cow to Copenhagen, 
310,614. Cattle received, 1907-1908, 433,- 
436; cattle exported, 1907-1908, 241,- 

061 ; cattle consumed in Massachusetts, 
T 9 2 >375- Valuation of cattle shipped 
from Boston, 1907, $10,450,935; valua- 
tion of cattle snipped from Boston, 
1908, $8,624,300; valuation of cattle 
shipped from Boston to August 17 (ap- 
proximately), 1909, $5,775,000; total 
valuation since January 1, 1907, $24,- 

Before a steer is safely on board the 
steamer at Boston his life is a very in- 
teresting one. To gain an insight into 
the great extent of territory covered 
by the cattle industry, and the time 
and trouble taken with them during 
their three years or more of life pre- 
vious to shipment to the beef markets 
abroad, let us trace the life of a steer 
from its birth to its landing on the 
docks at Berkenhead, England. 

We left Dodge City with four tl ou- 
sand head of cattle — cows, calves and 
steers — which we were to drive onto a 
ranch situated in the northwestern 
part of Colorado, on a tributary of the 
Green river, up into the heart of the 
Rocky mountains, in the Mintah range, 
west of the Rohan mountains. 

The day after we hit the trail a 
white calf was born. Each day it 
walked a little with its mother and 
when it became tired was carried in 
the "mess" wagon or by some of the 
riders, the men in turn carrying it be- 
fore them on the saddle. All became 
attached to him — we called him 
"Whitey" — and he became our mascot. 
At the end of the five months that we 
were on the trail he was quite a large, 
respectable calf. 

Every morning before sunrise we 
were roused out of our sleep by the 
cook's calling out "Grub Pile! Grub 
Pile!" and out we would crawl from 
our blankets and tarpaulins, dress cur- 



selves, roll up our beds, put them into 
the "mess" wagon, wash ourselves, and 
were ready for our breakfast of hot 
rolls, bacon, coffee, and prunes. We 
would then corral the bunch of horses 
alongside of the wagon, each man rop- 
ing the one he was to ride that morn- 
ing. The roped horses were led to one 
side, where they were blanketed and 
saddled very carefully, then bridled 
and away. 

file, wagging their heads as they go, 
walking slowly and with dignity till 
they reach water. After drinking they 
are allowed to graze for an hour or 
longer, if the grass is thin. Then they 
are started on the trail. 

Gradually, as the day wears on, the 
oldest and weakest cattle will begin to 
lag behind, and when they become so 
footsore that they can not walk with- 
out limping, they are left behind for a 

- - - 

Steamer leaving harbor 

The conduct of the cattle themselves 
is most interesting. At sunrise the 
leader of the herd will be the first to 
get up, stretch himself, and slowly 
walk out of the herd. At this signal 
the herd, one after another, follows in 
exact imitation of the leader till all are 
on the move. As soon as the leader 
has reached the outside of the herd two 
men, one on each side, direct him onto 
the trail, the rest following in single 

day or two. After a good rest, they 
will overtake the herd. Some times, 
when a larger number than usual had 
been left behind, the writer of this ar- 
ticle would be sent back over the trail 
to pick up the "drags." The first ani- 
mal found would be the hardest to 
drive, as it would try to go in every 
direction but the one desired. After 
picking up several animals there 
would always be one among them that 



would act as leader, and if that bunch 
was thrown in with another, al- 
though each of these bunches had its 
leader, a different animal would take 
the lead of the combined herd. 

During severe thunder storms the 
herd would often stampede. All that 
can be done then is to keep in front of 
the leader, if possible, and let them run. 

As we were going through Oldtown, 
Colorado, at the foot of Pike's Peak, at 
the entrance to Ute Pass, the leader 
would not pass by a gilt sign that was 
swinging in the sunlight before a hotel. 
As he turned round he was crowded 
back by the cattle behind him, and so 
they began to "churn," that is, turn 
and follow the leader, walking round 
and round a common center till all the 
cattle were involved in a compact mov- 
ing mass of horns, backs, and snouts; 
so closely were they packed that the 
men could walk upon their backs ; their 
heads were thrown back, their eyes 
rolling, and they were bellowing at 
the top of their voices. This churning 
lasted for over an hour, when they 
quieted down and were started on up 
the pass into the mountains. 

Dinner on the trail was at the most 

convenient place for water. Some 
times it was served at ten in the fore- 
noon, sometimes not till two in the af- 
ternoon, sometimes we had no dinner 
at all. At the noon camp we changed 

About two hours before sundown 
we would let the cattle graze along 
slowly, and after sunset drive them to 
the night camp and water them, after 
which we would bed them down for 
the night by bunching them up and 
riding slowly around them, they hav- 
ing been driven onto a level piece of 
ground where they could lie down com-* 
fortably. Soon after being bunched up 
the leader of a herd will lie down, and 
then, one after another, the cows with 
calves will lie down near him, till all 
the cows that have calves are clustered 
around him. Then the young stock 
and cows without calves will lie down 
outside the cows with calves, and lastly 
the steers outside of all the others, 
guarding the herd. 

After all the cattle have lain down, 
two men, one on each side, walk their 
horses around the herd continually. 
At midnight they are relieved by two 
others, who guard the cattle till morn- 

Frojii a drawing t 

Arrangemhnt of ship's cattxe; decks 




ing. If perchance a man's horse should 
stumble into a prairie dog's hole, or 
make a sudden movement in the long 
grass, every animal will be on its feet 
instantly, ready to stampede at the 
first indication of danger. But by 

humming a tune the cattle will settle 
down and be quiet till the next alarm. 
We were five months on the trail, 
half the time on the "plains," the other 
half in the Rocky mountains, up Ute 
Pass, over the Lyeadville trail, across 




the "Parks," over the continental di- 
vide, through Douglass Pass, down 
onto the Pacific slope, by White and 
Green rivers, to the ranch. 

There the cattle were branded with 
the ranch brand, "84," their old brands 
having been "vented," or duplicated 
before we left Dodge City. This du- 
plication of a brand signifies that the 
animal has been sold. The yearlings 
and older cattle were all branded, 
but the calves that were born that 
spring were not, as the brand mark on 
such young stock becomes nearly twice 
its size by the time the young calves 
are grown. For that reason they were 
left till the following spring. There is 
no danger of losing these young calves, 
for they follow their mothers till they 
are a year old, and longer. I have seen 
a cow with a little calf, a yearling, and 
a two-year-old following her. As 
there was no shute to drive the cattle 
through in order to brand them, they 

were driven, one at a time, into a cor- 
lal, where they were roped by the 
head by one man, and by one of the 
hind legs by another. In this way they 
were thrown onto their right side, and 
the two ropes drawn tight. Then, 
with one man sitting on the steer's 
haunch, holding its tail, and another 
sitting on his chin, he would be con- 
fined in such a manner as to be unable 
to move. 

After the branding the man sitting 
on the chin would loosen the rope 
around the neck of the steer, lifting up 
first one horn, then the other, just 
enough to draw the rope from under it. 
Then the man sitting on the haunch 
would loosen the rope from the hind 
leg, let go the tail and get off the steer 
very quietly and run for the -fence. 
When every one else is safely outbide 
the corral, the man sitting on the chin 
of the steer would jump and run, and 
would (theoretically) be in safety be- 
fore the astonished animal could be on 
its feet again. 

It was in the October after we ar- 
rived at the "84" ranch that there was 
an "Indian outbreak," and the whole 
country round was roused in conse- 
quence. It seems that two Indians went 
into Georgetown, Colorado, riding on 
two ponies that they had bought from 
some white men. These ponies had 
on them brands belonging to a man in 
Georgetown. The Indians rode up in 
front of a store and dismounting tied 
their ponies to the horsebar that was 
on the sidewalk, and went into the 
store to make some purchases. On 
their coming out they found a crowd 
of men and boys surrounding their 
ponies, one of whom was showing the 
brand mark and haranguing the crowd ; 
as the Indians took their ponies and 
mounted to depart, this man tried to 
stop them, and claimed the ponies as 
his. After some loud talk the Indians 
managed to get away and escape into 
the mountains. 

Then there was a call for the sheriff, 
and he and a large posse of armed men 
started in pursuit. They tracked the 
Indians to their camp, which was but 



a little way beyond our ranch, but the 
camp was deserted, the alarm had been 
given and the Indians had fled. The 
sheriff set fire to the "tepes," and 
burnt everything that was burnable 
about the camp. Then he ordered his 
men to fire into the willows and 
"quackenas" that grew along the creek, 
and as he expected, out ran women, 
children, and old men in all directions. 
At that the white men fired on these 
fugitives, but fortunately did not kill 

aggressors and the white men the in- 
jured party. 

After wintering in Colorado, and 
early the following spring, all the year- 
lings were driven across country onto 
a ranch on Horse creek, Wyoming, 
where they were branded and let loose 
on the range. 

The ranch to which these yearlings 
were driven was called the "L. C," or 
"Fleur de Lis." It is one of the best 
equipped ranches in Wyoming. As 


any, only wounding an old Indian in 
the arm. 

On their way back to Georgetown 
the sheriff's posse was fired upon from 
the bluffs above; they returned the 
fire, but apparently their shots were 
ineffectual. There was an account of 
this wanton action on the part of the 
white men in one of the daily papers 
later on, under the heading "Great In- 
dian Outbreak. Indians on the War 
Path," and from that account any one 
would suppose the Indians were the 

everything of the best as regards food, 
pay, accommodations, horses, and 
equipment was found, the "L. C." had 
its pick of the best men. Its reputa- 
tion had spread far and wide, and its 
cattle were better cared for and were 
in better condition for shipping than 

On .the 20th of May of the spring 
that these yearlings were three years 
old, we started from the Fort Laramie 
trail on the so-called "spring" round- 
up, the course being down Horse creek 



/ i, l k I 

: ''^V%:J ! ^l 


to Julesberg, Nebraska, north to the 
North Platte river, west to the Chug- 
water, then south to the ranch. There 
were twenty outfits and as many 
"mess" wagons, nearly twelve hundred 
horses and two hundred men. Every 
morning at sunrise we started two and 
two, and gathered in the cattle of all 
ages till we came to the noon camp, a 
place previously determined upon, 
where there was good water and plenty 
of grass. 

As the men came in with their small 
bunches of cattle we soon had a herd 
of from two to five thousand head. 
After dinner the herd was surrounded 
by the men on horseback, and those 
that had the best horses for "cutting 
out" went in among the cattle and on 
finding one with their brand upon it, 
the horse would be guided up along- 
side the animal and would push it out 
of the herd. Then the steer would be 
driven over some rise of ground out of 
sight of the herd and kept there by 
men stationed for that purpose, and 
soon the large herd would be broken 
up into twenty or more smaller ones. 

These cattle were counted by the 

foremen of the ranches which owned 
them. If the "cutting out" was fin- 
ished by noon, the cattle were allowed 
to go with the exception of the three- 
year-olds, which were all held in a 
herd by themselves, and the men would 
round up a new section of territory be- 
fore night; but if the "cutting out" was 
not finished till 3 o'clock in the after- 
noon the cattle would be allowed to 
graze, but were bunched up and held 
over night. When they were rounded 
up in the afternoon they were held over 
night and the "cutting out" took place 
the first thing next morning. The 
three-year-old steers were shipped east 
to the corn belt, there to be fattened for 
the market. 

In September of that year we 
rounded up the rest of the steers in the 
fall, or "beef" roundup, and drove them 
to Cheyenne, Wyoming, where they 
were put upon cars en route for Chi- 
cago. There they were disposed of to 
one of the large shippers of cattle and 
shipped by rail to some of the numer- 
ous ports of shipment. Those that 
were to be shipped from Boston were 
brought by rail to the Brighton Stock 



Yards, where they were put into pens 
for a few days to enable them to stretch 
their legs and limber up after their 
long journey. On the morning they 
are to be shipped, before the cattle 
leave the stock yards, they are driven 
through a shute in order to rope them, 

how many cattle each section can ac- 
commodate, only such a number are 
driven into the ship at a time as will 
fill any one section. These sections 
vary in size, accommodating from four 
up to twenty or more cattle. 

As the cattle enter the compartment 


either by fastening the rope around 
their horns or around their necks, if 
hornless. They are then taken by rail 
direct to the steamers, either to 
Charlestown or East Boston. 

As the steamers are divided into sec- 
tions for the cattle, and it being known 

assigned for them, men stationed for 
the purpose catch hold of the ropes 
that are on their necks, draw the ends 
through holes in planks, which serve as 
stanchions, and tie them with two 
"half-hitches." The next day these 
knots are changed to what is called 



a "double loop," and the morning the 
cattle are landed the knots are again 
changed into an "over-hang" loop, or 
a "double-bow." In either case these 
last knots are tied so that a man can 
run along a row of cattle and by one 
vigorous pull on each rope free them 
one by one. Every morning at 3:30 
the men are called and at 4 o'clock they 
commence watering the cattle. 

Throughout the ship, on each deck 
occupied by the cattle, are water 
pipes running overhead through the 
passageways, and at certain intervals 
i are short pieces of hose by which the 
imall movable tanks are filled with 
water. The duty of one man is to keep 
this tank filled, dip out pails of water 
and hand them to another man, who 
passes them to a third, and the last 
man, the foreman of the gang, fills and 
replenishes pails in front of the steers 
\ill all have done drinking, some drink- 
ing as many as six pailsful at a time. 
There are four steers drinking at the 
same time out of as many pails. In 
the same way the cattle are again 
watered at 2 o'clock in the afternoon, 

only being allowed one pail of water 

To water one hundred and eighty 
head of cattle in the morning takes four 
men about an hour and a half. After 
watering they are fed hay, say six 
small bales to one hundred and thirty 
head. At 9 o'clock the cattle are given 
grain, either whole corn, ground oats, 
or meal. The troughs having been 
previously cleaned out, the grain is 
poured from a two-bushel bag into 
pails and distributed in the same way 
as the water, the foreman of the gang 
feeding out the grain, giving one-half 
pailful to each steer. After the grain 
has been fed the alleyways are swept 
out, and after being watered in the 
afternoon the cattle are fed all the hay 
they can eat, and much more, and what 
they do not eat is thrown under them 
as bedding. At 6:30 P. M. two night 
watchmen take charge till 4 o'clock 
next morning. 

The morning the cattle are landed 
the knots are changed, the partitions 
between the different sections taken 
down, and gangways cleared ready to 

The homeward way is beguiled by reading " 



run them off the steamer. As soon as 
the gangplank for the cattle is secured 
the agents for the shippers come 
aboard, take account of stock, and take 
charge of the cattle when landed. 
When they begin to run the cattle off, 
as soon as they begin to move, the rest 
become impatient to follow, and then 
they begin to bellow, stamp, and pull 
at their ropes, trying to get free. 

The accommodations and food for 
the cattlemen vary on the different 
lines, and on the different steamers of 
each line. It would be a great boon to 
them if they had some bread and coffee 
before going to work at 4 o'clock in 
the morning, and the men would be 
much better satisfied if they could have 
given them what is "dumped" over- 
board from the first cabin; this food, 
which is now wasted, would do some 

good, besides being a means of saving 
to the steamship company. 

If any one line wants to be patron- 
ized more than another, let them see 
to it that the cattlemen are well pro- 
vided for, both as regards sleeping ac- 
commodations and food, and they will 
always have a full cargo of cattle. 

Some of the cattlemen that go across 
have been in the business over thirty 
years, and many of them are well read 
men. There is nothing to do on the 
return trip to Boston but eat, sleep, 
play cards, and read. One man, par- 
ticularly, who has been going across 
for years, and who is now sixty years 
of age, always carries a book in his 
pocket, and reads every spare moment 
during working hours. He is one of 
the best read men that the writer 




If they are right who claim that after Death 
To Nature's humbler types we shall return, 

I only ask that the same Spring-tide's breath 
May find us side by side, as flower or fern. 


If they are right, whose more ambitious way 
Claims that to higher spheres we upward trend, 

Oh, wait for me, who, hampered by this clay, 
Fear that too far beyond you may ascend ! 

But these philosophies can never sweep 
From out my heart, a childlike hope of fair 

Green meadows, where you wait, your eyes all deep 
With longing unfulfilled, till I am there. 

A Tax Which 
Would Moderate Excessive Rents 


THE welfare of every man, wo- 
man, and child, including you, 
dear reader, is more or less af- 
fected by taxes and rents, whether you 
own a home, pay rent for a house, or, 
as a boarder, pay rent for a room. For 
this reason and because the proposed 
plan is new and original, we ask for 
a careful consideration of this article. 

Civilized man is not like the lower 
animals. He cannot make his home in 
the air, the sea, the trees, or holes in 
the ground. He must first have land 
and a house in order to have a home. 

Perhaps ten millions of the people of 
the United States are living in homes 
of their own ; but the other seventy 
millions or more must pay rent or be 
homeless. It is not only vitally im- 
portant to the seventy millions that 
they should be able to pay the neces- 
sary rent; but it is equally important 
to the whole country that they should 
not be homeless, because criminals and 
paupers come mostly from the home- 

A saving of fifty cents or a dollar a 
week can possibly be made in the fam- 
ily of a workingman when things are 
running smoothly, by crowding their 
bare living down to an existence actu- 
ally lacking in some of the necessaries 
of life. This saving is quickly used up 
when the worker is sick or idle. As 
sickness and idleness is inevitable, the 
average workingman accumulates noth- 

A week's wages is all that stands 
between the working man and need. 
Two weeks' pay is all that stands be- 
tween him and hunger. Indeed, the 
average worker is in debt more than his 
coming wages, and struggle hard as he 

may he can neither get out of debt nor 
keep out of it. This is none the less 
true because he may not realize it, or 
because, perhaps, the reader may not 
believe it. 

A saving of two to five dollars per 
month in rent would often prevent a na- 
turally honest working man from drop- 
ping out of the proud ranks of respect- 
able, self-supporting, prompt-paying 
citizens into the straggling, disorgan- 
ized horde of "slow pays," where he 
must struggle along blindly and hope- 
lessly until finally disgraced with the 
name "dead heat." This saving might 
often prevent the breaking up of 
homes and the resulting increase of va- 
grants, petty swindlers, paupers, crim- 
inals, and fallen women. 

All rents are not excessive; but un- 
fortunately the extortionate rents are 
usually exacted from those least able 
to pay them. 

We hope to show how these exces- 
sive rents can often be moderated with- 
out injustice to anybody, and in most 
such cases the few dollars saved will 
mean the salvation of the home. 

Laws and customs may vary in dif- 
ferent states ; but generally, at present, 
houses and land are valued for taxing 
purposes, that is, assessed by assessors. 
The owner is taxed on this amount at 
a uniform rate or per cent fixed by the 
authorities for that city or town. If 
the owner thinks his property is 
assessed too high he can appeal ; but if 
it is too low he keeps still and thus 
dodges a portion of his just taxes. His 
natural inclination is to undervalue- 
property to the assessor and overvalue 
it to a would-be tenant or purchaser. 

The system encourages the owner to 


lie or it taxes him for telling the truth, 
if he volunteers or is asked to name the 
value. The values given by the owner 
cannot be relied on because of self- 
interest. The judgment of assessors is 
not infallible, in itself, and what infor- 
mation they obtain from the owners 
is more apt to befog than to enlighten 
the assessors. 

There is no danger of over-assess- 
ment; but the great variation in the un- 
der-assessment is more or less a source 
of loss to the authorities and of dis- 
satisfaction to the taxpayers. 

If it is true, as landlords claim, that 
high rents are but the natural and log- 
ical consequence of increased values, 
then the receiving of high rents simply 
shows the increased a alues and the 
assessment should be made accordingly. 

Keeping this main proposition in 
mind, we propose a law assessing prop- 
erty in proportion to its rental value. 
Such a law, we believe, would prevent 
under-assessment, would facilitate tax 
collecting and assessing and would 
benefit the community. 

Therefore we propose : 

That assessments for the tax-year 
should be made at the beginning of 
that year. 

That every tax bill should con- 
tain a permit to sell the property 
at not more than the assessed 
value or to rent it at not more than 
a fourteenth (say) of its assessed value, 
per annum, and should forbid its sale 
or rental at any more than those fig- 
ures during that year. 

That, at the beginning of the year, 
each owner must name the value to the 
assessors. If the owner sets the valua- 
tion too high then the property must 
be assessed and taxed at his figures. If 
he names too low a figure, then the 
assessors must set the figures at what 
they consider the full, fair, cash value 
and the property must be assessed and 
taxed at assessors' figures. 

Nature has provided but a limited 
amount of land for the use of man. No 
one can increase it; but any one who is 
lacking in public spirit can reduce it by 
placing it out of reach of those who 
would use and improve it. This is now 

done by holding it for sale at an ex- 
orbitant price. 

Under the new plan, some of these 
unreasonable landholders might still 
continue to ask their unreasonable 
prices, but they would be taxed right 
up to their asking price, and after a 
few years of heavy taxes with no buy- 
ers, they might be brought to reason. 
Others, however, would at once place 
their values at figures reasonable 
enough to induce purchase by would- 
be users. In this way land would come 
into more general use and improve- 
ment and the community would be 
greatly benefited in consequence. 

There are some people holding va- 
cant, unimproved land waiting for a 
rise in price, who may think they are 
entitled to respect or even praise be- 
cause they pay what tax they are forced 
to pay on it. Let them shut their eyes 
and imagine a city composed of all 
vacant lots like theirs. Let them think 
it over; but we advise them not to 
think too long or they might lose 
some of their self-esteem. 

The rent has been set at a fourteenth 
of the assessed value for convenience 
in writing this article and because this 
seems about the right proportion. A 
slight change might not interfere ; but 
any material one would certainly re- 
duce the fairness or impair the effi- 
ciency of the plan. At this ratio the 
landlord could receive seven and two- 
sevenths per cent of the assessed value 
of the property for a year's rent. 

Taxation is a necessary burden 
which must be borne by all property 
owners. The new plan does not add 
to the general burden of taxation; but 
it would compel the shirkers to bear 
their full and just proportion and 
thus relieve the others who have 
heretofore been carrying more than 
their share. 

There would be no increased assess- 
ment on property already fully and 
fairly assessed, nor on that for which 
the rent asked was not more than a 
fourteenth of the assessed value. Such 
rents would not be affected but both 
landlords and tenants would enjoy the 
added public benefits made possible 



by the increased taxes on other prop- 
erty heretofore under-assessed. 

The only ones to suffer would be 
the landlords who now receive or de- 
mand more than a fourteenth of the 
value for the rent. They like to receive 
more than other landlords and to 
pay taxes on less. People of this con- 
stitution might suffer acute pain but 
not injustice by such a plan as we 

A landlord may name a high figure 
and may secure it; but under the new 
plan he would be taxed accordingly. 
However, in order to ask an unreason- 
able rent or price, he must first pay 
taxes on fourteen times the rent asked 
or on the full sale price asked. Then 
after paying this tax, his property might 
remain vacant or unsold, or he might be 
obliged to come down to a reasonable 
price in order to sell or rent. The risk 
would be too great to be lightly un- 
dertaken and would be apt to induce 
moderation where rents are now ex- 
cessive. At present when rent or price 
demanded has no effect on taxes, there 
is no inducement for the owner to be 
reasonable and nothing to risk in ask- 
ing more than a fair price. 

The new plan would make it risky 
to attempt to "raise the rent to cover 
increased taxes" when every attempt 
to raise the rent meant a certainty of 
increased taxes with no certainty 
of greater rents from such tenants 
as are now paying all that they are 

In poor neighborhoods, in cheapest 
buildings, unhealthy, ill-kept and in 
bad repair, with no conveniences and 
crowded like cattle trains — there is 
where landlords pay the lowest taxes 
and collect the largest rents. Pay 
in advance is the rule in such places 
and evictions are common. 

There the rents cannot be increased 
because they are always up to the ex- 
treme limit. In spite of the thread- 
bare joke that it is cheaper to move 
than to pay rent, these tenants move 
out or are put out simply because they 
have not the money in their pockets 
to pay the rent. It is time that the 
community should use the same "busi- 

ness methods" on these landlords that 
they do on their tenants and tax them 

One of the greatest factors in main- 
taining excessive rents is the land- 
lord or agent controlling a large num- 
ber of tenements, who figures that he 
will make more money by holding his 
tenements at say half more than they 
are worth even if say a quarter of them 
remain vacant, than he would if he 
rented them all at a moderate figure. 
A few of such men controlling a large 
number of tenements are sufficient to 
keep rents above their normal figures. 

The new plan would tax them accord- 
ing to their demands on all their houses, 
including vacant ones, and after deduct- 
ing the total taxes from the total rents, 
the extortionate landlords would be as 
badly or worse off than if all their 
houses were rented at moderate figures 
and taxed accordingly. 

Our remedy would be applied where 
it would do the most good, that is, 
where rents are the most excessive. 

Moderation of rents would en- 
courage and enable poor people to 
establish and maintain homes. The 
home is the foundation on which gov- 
ernment is built. The preservation of 
the home is a necessity, its regulation 
is a right, and its improvement is a 
duty of the government. In a thou- 
sand ways the government now does 
these things and it even reduces or 
subordinates the rights, liberties, and 
privileges of the individual to the 
interests of the home and the com- 

For instance: In many states it 
grants to married men exemptions that 
it refuses to single men. Its laws en- 
courage and facilitate the performance 
of the marriage ceremony much more 
than they impede or restrict it. 
When once a couple is married, how- 
ever, no matter how discordant, miser- 
able, and unhappy they may be, and 
in spite of the impossibility of har- 
mony or even toleration, the state in 
every way hinders and hampers 
divorce or separation. The mainten- 
ance of even that excuse of a home 
is regarded as of more importance 


to the state than the happiness of 
the husband and wife forming the 

Incidently encouraging and protect- 
ing homes, the government might 
wisely impose taxes as we suggest. 
These might bear a little heavily 
though not unjustly on a few of the 
landlords. On the other hand, such 
taxing methods would lighten the load 
of all other taxpayers, reduce tax- 
dodging, greediness, and deception to 
assessors, facilitate assessing and tax- 
collecting, correct present inequali- 
ties in that line, increase the public 
revenues, build up the vacant lots, 
and moderate rents. These reduced 

rents would often occur where the 
tenants would otherwise be left home- 
less, penniless, and apt to become pub- 
lic charges of one kind or another. 

Is not any one of these benefits 
alone worthy of the attention of any 
journal? When you think that all 
these great benefits can be accom- 
plished without injustice to any one, 
can any patriotic magazine afford to 
ignore the subject? And you, dear 
reader, if you see these things as the 
writer sees them, then only when you 
have used your fullest power of word, 
deed, and influence to further them, 
may you rest serenely proud of your 
title — a good American citizen. 



Breeze of evening, lowly sighing 
Where the ocean grasses sway, 

Heed you how the lone gulls, crying, 
Vanish in the deepening gray? 

Know you, breeze so sweetly singing 

In your tender minor key, 
How you set our fancies winging 

Birdlike o'er the solemn sea? 

Overhead the skies are bending, 
Set with stars of wondrous light, 

At our feet the waves are lending 
Music to bewitch the night. 

But the charmed air is throbbing, 

Stirred by sounds diviner far 
Than the deep waves' fitful sobbing, 

Or the rock-born echoes are! 

'Tis the breeze of evening sighing, 
Where the ocean grasses sway, 

When the summer day is dying 
And the sun sinks in the bay ! 

Hunting Wild Bees in the Vermont 

Woods— II. 


AS I have said, Nathan had great 
knowledge of the ways of the 
honey bee. He was keen for 
the hunt and full of resources. Part of 
the plowed field had been planted in 
corn. At that time every corn patch 
had also its pumpkins. In this case 
the pumpkin vines grew rampant un- 
derneath the corn. Their large flowers 
had been opened in the morning, as is 
their habit, but the rain had closed 
them. Nathan began at once to open 
them and look for bees that might have 
been caught and imprisoned when the 
rain closed the long tubular corrollas 
at the top. His search was successful, 
and we soon had two bees at work in 
our boxes. They were somewhat be- 
numbed and stupefied at first from their 
imprisonment and the coolness that 
followed the shower. They soon re- 
vived, however, and partook freely of 
the sweets which we offered them. Af- 
ter filling its honey-sac to its full ca- 
pacity, one of them rose slowly, flying 
over and around the box, and then in 
widening circles, and examined closely 
both the box and the locality. Having 
completed its observation, it struck off 
in the same direction that the laden 
bee lined from the buckwheat flowers 
on the day before had taken. In an- 
other minute the second bee followed 
in the same line. This was what we 
hoped for and expected. In about fif- 
teen minutes our first bee returned, 
followed closely by the second. Neither 
bee entered the box at once; both hov- 
ered over it and flew around it many 
times before alighting on the comb 
which was now exposed in the open 
box. It was a strange thing to them to 

make such a discovery in such a way. 
Evidently they meant to be assured 
that it was all right. They would run 
no risk of an enemy or a concealed trap. 

The examination having proved sat- 
isfactory, they both dropped upon the 
comb and began at once to take up 
another load to add to their stores at 
home. The next time back there was 
less hesitation about entering the box. 
The time taken to go and come indi- 
cated that the bee-tree was about a 
mile away. We had now a good gen- 
eral line from this point, and there was 
need of nothing more here. Had we 
remained longer we should have seen 
the bees alight upon the comb with- 
out hesitation, their only concern ap- 
pearing to be to take possession of the 
whole of their find as soon as possible. 

The clouds had broken away and the 
sun was shining. We followed the 
general course of our line to a point 
about one mile from the field where 
we had lined the bees, or about the dis- 
tance indicated by the time taken by 
them to go and return. Here on an 
old building-place there was a clump 
of rank-growing mustard in full blos- 
som. There were bees on the flowers. 
Bees are very fond of mustard. I have 
known them to go three miles to work 
on it. We soon had some bees caught 
from the mustard flowers in our boxes. 
After filling the gathering sacs with 
the honey syrup and taking a little time 
to examine the boxes and the surround- 
ings, they struck directly across a cor- 
ner of the woods through which our 
first long line had passed. This be- 
trayed them. 

We had seen no bee-tree, but we 
knew it was there. Fifteen minutes 



Bees at work on an open card oe honey 

later Nathan had found it. It was a 
maple tree and the bees were flying 
rapidly in and out from a hole about 
two inches in diameter and forty feet 
high. We soon had our initials carved 
upon the trunk of the tree. The 
marking of a bee-tree by the 
finder, according to a code of 
honor that is usually respected by 
bee-hunters and others, conveys the 
ownership of the bees and honey, not 
the tree, of course, to the discoverer. 

Such a title may not be good in the 
courts, but it is the common law out- 
side of them. Therefore our bees re- 
mained safely in their maple tree home 
until the end of the honey season, 
about two months later, when we took 
away forty pounds of comb and honey, 
much of it as nice as if it had been 
stored in the most elaborate hive of 
modern construction. 

When we had found this bee-tree 
and marked it we had still almost an 



hour to spare before noon. Before go- 
ing home we got trace of another wild 
swarm which some time later we 
hunted and found. I tell the story of 
this later hunt in brief because it illus- 
trates the wonderful skill of my com- 
panion in woodcraft, and because the 
hunt led us into a locality of romantic 
interest, an old turnpike road, aban- 
doned more than seventy years ago. 
The old road led through the town of 
Stratton, about two or three miles west 
of the road now leading from West 

few old boards and decaying timbers. 
Near by, hidden by the brush and trees 
that had grown over them, we found 
white marble slabs and the mounds of 
several unmarked graves. The old 
burial place, as well as the old meeting 
house, the old road and the few scat- 
tered homes of the neighborhood, had 
been deserted for many years. 

But we were only hunting bees — not 
searching for historic relics. When 
we reached this place it was late in the 
afternoon. We had no cross line and 


Wardsboro to Arlington, and crossing 
the mountain through Stratton and 

Our wild bees led us along the old 
turnpike road for a hundred rods or 
more, and then crossed it in a direc- 
tion that would strike no more cleared 
land until it reached the openings on 
the west side of the mountains in Ben- 
nington County, ten miles through the 
woods. On the old road at this place 
there had once been a meeting house. 
Nothing remained of it now except a 

the opening in the woods was so narrow 
that is was impossible to make one in 
the open land. We judged from the man- 
ner of the bees at the box and the time 
it took them to go and return, that the 
swarm might be one-half mile or more 
from us through the solid woods. I 
suggested to Nathan that our only pos- 
sible chance to find it that day was to 
start at once into the woods and search 
for it on the only line that we had. We 
were soon deep in the forest, glancing 
into the trees as we passed. I had 



Siekweed, St. Johnswort, goedenrod, 

Indian hemp, ceematis and Eireweed, 

six honey-bearing plants in beoom 

noted the position of the sun, which 
was not far from the direction of the 
line. Making allowance for the sun's 
motion, I had used it to keep my 
course. Nathan followed his instinct, 
remarking that if we traveled far 
enough we should find them. I had, 
I thought, very little reason to believe 

After we had traveled in the dense 
woods for nearly an hour our courses 
had led us wide apart. Then I heard 
the voice of Nathan calling to me. He 
was out of sight and about forty rods 
away from me, but it took less than 
five minutes to find him. His first ex- 
clamation was, "What makes you wan- 
der so?" "It is you who are wander- 
ing," said I, "I have followed the sun." 
The smile that lighted up his face 
caused me to lose confidence in the 
sun, and I began to look. Nathan was 
sitting on a log beside a spruce tree, 
which I saw at once was the home of 

our bees. They entered through a 
seam in the body of the tree, about 
fifteen feet from the ground. The 
seam was covered on both sides by 
large nuggets of spruce gum. We had 
now nothing more to do but to mark 
the tree, get out of the woods and start 
for home, six or seven miles away. 
Our bee-tree was about two hundred 
rods deep in the forest. I have known 
very few swarms to be found so far 
from the open country. With nothing 
to guide him but instinct, Nathan had 
followed the line this long distance 
through the dense forest straight to the 
tree. I might believe this instance to 
have been accidental had I not had 
many other similar proofs of his in- 
stinctive knowledge of the points of 
the compass. This swarm proved to 
have a large number of bees and about 
two large pailfulls of dry comb, with 
hardly a pound of honey. 

At different times, extending over a 
period of ten years, we found many 

Pine bee-tree, entrance oe bees 
at aperture 



Trapping a bee in the bee box 

swarms of wild bees in these mountain 
woods. The line of one of them was 
started from bees caught from the 
goldenrod on the ground made historic 
by the great political rally of 1840, 
when the people of New York and 
New England to the number of 15,000 
— some estimates say 40,000 — assem- 
bled, at an altitude of nearly one-half 
mile above the sea, to listen to Daniel 
Webster. The old log cabin used at 

that time has recently been recon- 
structed and now stands on the old 
grounds about two miles east of the 
summit on the road crossing the moun- 
tain from West Wardsboro to Arling- 
ton. There were, at that time, per- 
haps a dozen farm residences within 
two miles of the log cabin grounds. 
Crossing the mountain in 1904, I found 
nearly all the farms deserted. The 
employees of the great lumber mills 



and occasional campers in the sum- 
mer were about the only inhabitants. 
But I am getting away from the bees. 
Of course we found them. They were 
in a large hemlock tree about a mile 
from the starting place, in a heavily 
timbered woods on a branch of the 
Deerfield River. It was a good swarm, 
having about twenty-five pounds of 

Another expert, with whom I some- 
times hunted bees, was the son and 
partner of his father in the village 
store. He had a keen appreciation of 
the woods and of all kinds of hunting 
and fishing. He could bring home more 
partridges to show for a day's out- 
ing with his gun, or more fish for a day 
with the rod and line, than, any other 
person in the town. He also made his 
business successful, and was for many 
years town treasurer. At the time of 
the bee hunt, an account of which is 
here related, he was constable and col- 
lector of taxes. Having to visit a de- 
linquent tax-payer who lived in a re- 
mote part of the town, he undertook 
to combine business with pleasure by 
taking his bee box and inviting me to 
ride with him. Of course I accepted 
his invitation, and took my bee box 

Our plan for that day was simply to 
take lines from bees that we caught 
from the flowers by the roadside and, 
if any wild bees were started, to hunt 
them to a finish at another time. We 
started lines of what appeared to be 
two wild swarms. At the house of the 
delinquent tax-payer there were four 
or five hives of bees. A bee was 
caught about forty rods from these 
hives. There was hardly a chance in 
a thousand that it did not belong to 
them, but after filling its honey-sac at 
the box and making' the usual observa- 
tions of the situation, it rose high in 
the air and struck off in a line directly 
away from the hives. The high flight 
indicated that the home to which it 
belonged was far away, but some- 
where in the direction it had taken 
there was reasonable certainty that it 
would join its fellow workers in a 
hollow tree. This was sufficient for 

our purpose for that day. It was the 
second line of wild bees we had 
started on the route. The delinquent 
had promised to pay his taxes — a mat- 
ter of much less consequence to me. 

A few days later we were both on 
the grounds again, this time to hunt 
and find. We spent the whole of the 
forenoon trying to find the bees in the 
nearest line which we had discovered 
— an unsuccessful hunt, for we could 
find only one bee that went in that 
direction, and that one an unambitious, 
indifferent worker, probably suffering 
from old age — a honey bee is old at 
six months, seldom, if ever, living to 
the age of ten months. We decided 
that the search for this swarm was a 
poor job and agreed to abandon it. 
That decision and the result that fol- 
lowed is a good practical business les- 
son. How many with a poor job on their 
hands will stick to it and struggle on 
through life! This was only for a 
day, it is true, but life is made up of 
days, and the principle is the same for 
a part or all of them. 

We found that we had time to take 
dinner just before twelve o'clock. It 
was eaten with the improved relish 
that is almost always present on such 
occasions. At noon we were ready 
to start for our other line. We went 
directly across the old pastures to a 
place about a mile distant, where there 
was an old farmhouse, which was, as 
near as we could judge, on the course 
of the bee which he had lined from the 
delinquent tax-payer's, and more than 
a mile from his place. Here we found 
mustard plants in blossom, with plenty 
of honey bees at work on the flowers. 
It took but a little time to take some 
bees from the flowers and set them at 
work in our boxes. It was soon found 
that the line continued in the same 
direction taken by the bee caught 
more than a mile away, near the 
domestic hives. One-fourth of a mile 
farther the line crossed a narrow neck 
of woods about sixty rods wide. After 
passing through these woods it led 
through an open country where there 
was not a tree standing for more than 
a mile. Carefully noting the point of 



the woods where the line struck, I said 
to my partner: "If the bees are in the 
first woods, as seems probable, I 
shall stand a good chance to find them 
without waiting for anything more. If 
you will keep the bees at work here and 
move them to another station when 
you have enough, I will go into the 
woods and look for them." 

In about twenty minutes I had 
found them. They were in the body 
of a dead hemlock about ten feet from 
the top, and seventy feet from the 
ground. Crowding around the dead 
tree was a dense second growth 
forest which shut out from view the 
top of the hemlock and the bees, ex- 
cept from one lucky point where there 
was a small opening through which 
the bees could be seen by one exactly 
in the right position. No distinct 
form of a bee could be distinguished. 
There were only rapidly changing, 
darting lines, apparently not much 
larger than the lines on ruled paper. 
One not familiar with these quickly 
appearing and disappearing short 
lines about the entrance to a bee- 
tree, when it is at a great height 
would, perhaps, sooner believe them to 
be caused by a glimmering of the 
sun's rays than by bees. When the 
swarm was found, I noted the time. 
It was two o'clock, just two hours 
from the time when we had started to 
hunt for it, abandoning the search for 
the swarm with the old bee. 

After waiting for a cool day at the 
end of the honey season, we came to 
take possession of our discovery. We 
hunted up the supposed owner of the 
land on which the tree stood and took 
him along with us. He gave his con- 
sent to the cutting of the tree very 
cheerfully, simply remarking that it 
was the other side of his line. As the 
tree was worthless, we could not af- 
ford to look up another owner. We 
had come prepared with four large 
pails and one or two small ones, in 

which to carry home the spoils. The 
tree stood on the steep bank of a 
terrace in the West River valley. 
We tried to fell it on the side of the 
bank so as to give the bees and honey 
as little jarring as possible, but the 
wood was so much decayed that it fell 
across the kerf and went thundering 
down the steep bank, smashing the 
part containing the bees to pieces, to 
their great surprise, and, I fear, to the 
injury of some of them. The top of 
the tree fell within fifteen feet of the 
wheel track of a much traveled road 
leading from Townsend to Wardsboro. 
We were, therefore, obliged to warn 
travelers, whose curiosity led them to 
stop, of their danger, for an angry bee 
has a special antipathy for a sweaty 
horse. Many instances are known of 
horses being stung to death. A four- 
horse teamster with his load of freight 
stopped directly in front of us. We 
warned him of his danger and he 
moved on to a safe distance, but he 
had seen too much — he stopped his 
team and returned for a meal of honey, 
which, of course, he got. . 

Our swarm proved to be very old. 
The comb was thick and strong, as 
it always is in very old swarms. It 
was completely filled with honey, 
securely capped over the cells, and the 
capping had become firm with age. 
For these reasons there was little loss 
of honey. We filled all our pails and 
there was still some honey left. We 
found pieces of clean hemlock bark, 
upon which we gathered up what we 
estimated to be fifteen pounds of comb 
and honey, and gave it to the man who 
had helped us and given his permission 
to cut the tree. Our pails proved to 
contain eighty-five pounds. Before 
being disturbed the tree contained at 
least one hundred pounds. The most 
I ever found in any other tree was 
sixty-two pounds. The stories of two 
hundred pounds or more in a tree are 
mostly fabulous. 

Old Lower Falls and its Church 


With Illustrations by the Author 

THE quiet village of Lower Falls 
now, perhaps in its decline, was, 
during the first half of the last 
century, a prosperous and thriving mill 
town, and among the first in the 
country. The village was early de- 
pendent for support upon the river 
which skirts its banks, and has existed 
ever since the 
first settle- 
ment, mainly 
by its mills 
and water- 
power indus- 
cries. The first 
record of busi- 
ness having 
been com- 
menced here 
by water- 
power was in 
June, 1703, 
when John 
Leverett, Esq., 
conveyed "four 
acres of land 
upon Charles 
River, at the 
Lower Falls, 
bounded east 
by a forty acre 
lot belonging 
to Harvard 
College; west 
by the old 
path that 
leads to the 
wading place, 
formerly the 
Natick path, and south by the. Charles 
River." On this piece of land was es- 
tablished iron works, — a trip hammer 
and forge. Mills were soon built at the 
Falls, and a very thriving industry was 
carried on, chiefly in the manufacture 
of paper. The first paper mill in the 

From a painting by Thomas Casilear Cole 

Oi,d St. Mary's, Newton Lower Fai^s 

United States was built at the Lower 
Falls in 1790, which with other mills 
here supplied most of the paper to the 
new nation. During the last century 
some eight or ten paper mills were in 
constant operation. 

Other mills and industries that have 
been carried on in the Falls form a 

numerous and 
varied list. 
Among them 
ire iron works, 
saw mills, 
grist mills, 
snuff mills, 
clothing mills, 
leather mills, 
paper mills, 
shoddy mills, 
calico print- 
ing, and ma- 
chine shops. 
At present 
there are but a 
small number 
of these in op- 
eration , and 
the paper 
industry has 
almost entire- 
ly disappeared 
from "~e Falls. 
The black- 
smith of the 
village, Sam- 
uel Lawton, 
was a famous 
old character 
in the Falls during the early part of 
the century. He is well known to 
many in Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe's 
"Old Town Folks." The scenes and 
characters of the story are drawn from 
this neighborhood; and in the book 
Lawton is represented by the village 




blacksmith, Sam Lawton. He is, how- 
ever, best entitled to the name of vil- 
lage do-nothing, in which character 
Mrs. Stowe admirably describes him. 

The idol of the boys, the favorite of 
all the housewives, and the sage and 
gossip of the tavern, Sam Lawton was 
not unlike old Rip Van Winkle of the 
Kaatskills. And like Rip, Sam was 
well known to have a great aversion 
to all kinds of profitable labor; though 
willing at all times to help out his 
neighbor, or to run errands for the good 
wives of the village. Being decidedly 
henpecked by his own good wife, and 
the constant target of her tongue, Sam 
was very seldom found at home. He 
was always on hand to go shooting or 
"a fishin' " with the boys, and he would 
spend hours at a time mending for 
them some broken piece of tackle, or 
whittling out some wooden toy. But 
among the boys he was most famous 
for his yarns. From his infinite stock 
of legends and tales, he would sit, 
chewing his old clay pipe, by the hour, 
and drawl out one after the other of 
these marvelous tales to his admiring 

For a long time there was but one 
denomination represented among the 
early inhabitants of Newton and the 
surrounding towns, the Congregation- 
al ; and the church and state were here 
connected until as late as 1830. Con- 
gregational churches or meeting houses 
were formed and managed by the pop- 
ular voice in town-meeting, and were 
supported for a long time by general 

There were a good, many members 
of the Church of England or Episcopal 
Church among the early inhabitants 
of the Falls, who attended services in 
Boston or at Christ Church in Cam- 
bridge. Although Christ Church was 
the nearest house of worship, it was a 
long distance away, and those who at- 
tended there were put to a great in- 
convenience, having to travel of course 
at that time all the way on horseback 
or in their wagons. There were very 
few conveyances owned in the town at 
that time. In 1814 there were but three 
coaches in Newton, and but one stage 

to Boston, which started from the 
Falls and made three trips a week. 

The Episcopal Church in Massachu- 
setts had a hard struggle after the 
Revolutionary War. But before the 
war it had little encouragement, as the 
early Colonial laws were very rigid 
against any other kind of worship than 
that of the Congregational. In the 
War of Rebellion the English Church 
in New England suffered considerably, 
although George Washington and the 
leading statesmen, including the 
signers of the Declaration of Independ- 
ence, were members of the Episcopal 
Church; yet so many of the English 
rectors of the New England parishes 
had been loyal to their oaths of allegi- 
ance to King George, and some of them 
so offensive in their toryism, that the 
daughter church was in ill repute with 
the general public. A great many of 
its own members were exceedingly 
lukewarm. Here was great difficulty, 
therefore, in reorganizing the colonial 
parishes, some of whose houses of wor- 
ship had been put to uses of war by the 
American troops. Christ Church in 
Cambridge was used as a cavalry stable 
until George Washington took com- 
mand of the army in Cambridge. The 
building was restored by him and he 
himself attended worship there. 

The first aggressive step taken by 
the Episcopal Church in the new 
Commonwealth of Massachusetts, and 
the first new parish to be started in 
the state, was at Newton Lower Falls, 
where on April 7, 1812, was organized 
St. Mary's Parish. As the nearest 
place of worship of any kind was some 
distance away, the introduction of the 
church was welcome, and there was a 
general interest in the movement which 
extended to the Roman Catholics in the 
community. For more than fifty years 
St. Mary's Episcopal Church was the 
only house of worship in Lower Falls, 
and people of several denominations in 
all Newton, Needham, and Weston 
united in its support. 

Down to 1830 public worship was 
under direction of the town or parish, 
as a political body assembled in town 
meeting. By the charter granted to 



The Oed Tavern at Newton Lower 

St. Mary's Church by the General 
Court it was "incorporated into a soci- 
ety or body politic by the name of Epis- 
copal Society of St. Mary's Church in 
Newton, with all the privileges, powers, 
and immunities which Parishes do or 
may enjoy by the laws of the Com- 
monwealth." Furthermore, by the act 
of incorporation the proprietors of the 
house of worship to be erected and any 
other person "who shall enter his or 
her name or request to become a mem- 
ber, with the Wardens or Vestry or 
with the clerk of the said Society," be- 
came, with their estates, liable to taxa- 
tion by the said Episcopal Society and 
were "exempt from all other taxes or 
assessments for the support of public 
worship in the Town or Parish where 
they may respectively reside." A pres- 
ent anomaly under these old charters 
lies in the fact that the rights of pro- 
prietorship in pews survives, but the 
corresponding obligation to pay taxes 

died with the abolishing of all taxa- 
tion for the support of public worship. 

The land was given for St. Mary's 
Church and burying ground by Mr. 
Samuel Brown, Esq., of Boston, who 
had interests at the Falls. The corner- 
stone of a house of worship was laid 
there on Sept. 29, 1813, and as was cus- 
tomary in those days, the stone was laid 
by the Free Masons. So important was 
this occasion, however, and so influen- 
tial were the members of the new con- 
gregation, that the ceremony was con- 
ducted, not by the local lodge, but by 
the Grand Lodge of Massachusetts. 
The building was consecrated in 1814 
by Bishop A. V. Griswold. 

There is no recorded connection of 
St. Mary's with Christ Church, Cam- 
bridge, but the resemblance of the in- 
teriors of the building and the fact that 
the silver plagon of the communion 
service was presented by a Mr. Win- 
throp of Cambridge in 1812, would seen 



From a painting by Thomas Casilear Colo 

Memorial Day at the Oi^d Church 

to indicate some relationship between 
St. Mary's and its nearest neighbor, the 
Colonial parish of Cambridge; and 
which before the incorporation of St. 
Mary's included Newton. 

The largest development of the parish 
was in the rectorship of Dr. Baury 
which began in 1822 and lasted for 
thirty years. There have been thirteen 
successive rectors in the parish down 
to the present one, Rev. Thomas L. 
Cole. Under his rectorship it has taken 
a new lease of life. 

The old gray church over the village 
square is first introduced to the way- 
farer by the antique signboard, swung 
from a post at the foot of the hill. The 
building is picturesquely situated on 
the brow of Concord St. Hill overlook- 
ing the river, and stands secluded and 
half hidden by the huge pine trees and 
elms which surround it. The struc- 
ture which is a good example of the 
old type of colonial church architec- 
ture, is modest in form, but beautiful 
in its dignity and quiet charm. Arrayed 



on each side are lofty arched windows, 
whose many panes flood the interior 
with generous daylight. Old-fashioned 
high box-pews fill up the body of the 
church. The gallery which in former 
days was occupied by the village choir, 
is situated beneath the belfry of the 
tower. Several years ago the addition 
of a parish house was added to the 
further side of the church, but the old 
building remains the same. 

Without, shaded by a noble avenue 
of elms, lies God's green acre. Among 
the moss-covered gravestones are to be 
found the names of the former patri- 
archs of the village and early residents 
of the town. Here, 'neath a carved 
weeping willow, is the grave of mine 
host of the old Wales tavern, and 
yonder, resting together in peaceful 
tranquillity at last, Sam Lawton and 
his wife, Mehitable, are buried. The 
cemetery is dotted by the little flags 
that, fluttering here and there, mark the 

graves of soldiers of four wars. The old- 
est of these graves is that of Ebenezer 
Stedman, a veteran of the Revolution, 
who died in 1813. The weather-beaten 
stone of another Revolutionary soldier, 
a drummer in the war, relates the fact 
that his bass drum was perforated by a 
British bullet in the battle of Bunker 

Let us linger for a while in this 
silent and secluded church yard, far 
from the rush and noise of the great 
world without. And in gazing about 
upon the quiet and forgotten mounds 
of those who have gone before, we are 
thus inclined to meditate — "Such is the 
fate of many who have lived their little 
day in this world, often men of note, 
and useful in their generation, of 
whom it was said 'how shall the world 
be carried on without them,' yet in a 
little while the tide rolls on, they are 
gradually missed no more, and finally 
their memory fades away. But how 

The ancient churchyard 


interesting is the catalogue, reproduc- Spanish War, who come to honor the 
ing as it does the names of so many memory of their dead, and to decorate 
who once tilled these broad acres, and their graves with the symbols of resur- 
watched over the rising interests of rection and with the colors of their 
the town, who cleared its forest and country. The village people then are 
marked out its streets, who worshiped gathered in the yard to witness the 
in its simple church, and built its service and to listen to the address by 
earliest dwellings, who lived examples the chaplains. After the ceremonies 
of integrity and honest worth, and in the yard, the squad accompanied by 
have left an inheritance so rich and the spectators march down to the river 
so beautiful to their posterity." bank below. Here a prayer is said in 
On Memorial Day each spring the honor of those who fought and were 
undisturbed quietness of the place is buried at sea. As the chaplain reads 
broken by the muffled drums and appropriate passages from the Scrip- 
martial tread of the blue-coated vet- tures, the comrades toss their bunches 
erans of the Grand Army of the of flowers into the stream, which are 
Republic and the young soldiers of the carried down, borne toward the ocean. 



Across the sea at Winthrop, 

The rider waves come in, 
Their reins flung out to herald winds 

That swiftly rush before — 
A loud vanguard of hoarse bassoons, 

And bagpipes shrill and thin, 
That scream and roar 
Along the shore, 
While dark brigades of hurtling clouds 

Are marshaled to the din ! 

Across the sea at Winthrop, 

The fishing smacks come in, 
With torn sails set to battling waves, 

That crowd about their prows 
Like fierce white flocks of phantom birds, 

Or fleece that Furies spin, 
From bow to keel 
Of boats that reel, 
And rise and sink like drowning men, 

As they come staggering in ! 

Across the sea at Winthrop, 

The harbor lights shine out 
In fitful shafts of ruddy glare, 

That show the angry foam. 
But O, the lights of Winthrop town, 

The fisherfolk ne'er doubt! 
For lights of home 
To men who roam, 
Are guiding stars from fire-lit hearths 

Where children romp and shout ! 

i I 

And a Child Shall Lead Them 

t •> 


THE world in which he lived 
spoke well of Roy Braddon. 
He was a clever, prosperous 
young man, with a character unsullied 
by vice, an agreeable personal appear- 
ance, and a manner that was very 
quiet, but not wanting in pleasantness. 
A thoughtful man, too, who was apt to 
contemplate all things in their gravest 
aspect. For the rest he was happily 
placed in the world, being the only son 
of a wealthy ship chandler, who elected 
to live where his forefathers had lived 
before him, in a big, gloomy mansion 
in the old residential portion of New 

Occasionally Roy Braddon impa- 
tiently wondered why his father had 
not built a home up town, where other 
men of his position lived, but happily 
he was not troubled with an aesthetic 
temperament, and as a consequence ac- 
cepted his life very quietly ; for, on the 
whole, he reasoned, life was dull, after 
all, especially when a fellow was grown 
up and had had his fling at college. 

Besides, it was not a mean or sordid 
house, by any means. There was a 
gray-haired old butler, who had been 
custodian of the cellars and plate 
for the past thirty years, and a house- 
keeper of fabulous antiquity, who re- 
membered the last hours of the last 
snuff-colored Braddon ; and there were 
two prim, sour-visaged maid-servants, 
of a discreet age, selected by the house- 
keeper, who, change as they might as 
to their individuality, never underwent 
any variation as to those two qualities 
of primness and sourness. It was a 
ruling of the elder Braddon's : "Pretty 
housemaids are out of place when 
there's a young man in the house," he 
was wont to say. 

Nearly ten years had passed since 

Roy had taken a desk in his father's 
office, during the last two of which he 
had become practically the manager of 
the business, for the elder Braddon was 
beginning to lose his business faculty, 
and in all this time he had made but 
one real friend. This was a young man 
who had come into the office a few 
years after his own advent, as corre- 
sponding clerk. His name was Frank 
Ryder, and he was the son of an army 
officer who had run through two in- 
herited fortunes, and then cut his 
throat one morning in a fit of delirium 
tremens, leaving a widow and two 
helpless children to face a life which 
he had done his best to render hard 
for them. 

The attachment between these two 
young men did not arise in a day. 
Howbeit, once they came to know each 
other, their friendship grew to be a 
warm one and they became almost in- 
separable companions. There was not 
a nook along the water front that they 
left unexplored. And they were very 
happy together, Frank full of wild, 
reckless talk of lives that were differ- 
ent from their lives ; lives of adventure 
in distant lands; lives in camp and on 
shipboard, tossed about by the winds 
and waves, and in frequent contest with 
savage foes. The kind of a life he 
longed to lead, in short, instead of the 
dull, monotonous life of the office and 
its environments, which, as he termed 
it, might, and probably would, go on 
forever, and leave him no better a man 
than he was then. 

"But you get an increase of salary 
every year," suggested the more prac- 
tical Roy. "It isn't such a bad billet, 
after all; and by and by, when I have 
full charge, I will take you in as junior 




"Yes, I know that, old fellow," re- 
plied Ryder. "Both you and your 
father are mighty good to me, far bet- 
ter than I deserve. But, you see, I 
don't think I was intended for this sort 
of life. There's too much of my 
father's blood in me. The Ryders have 
always been soldiers and rovers. But 
for my mother, I should have enlisted 
long ago." 

A change came into Braddon's life 
soon after this conversation, a change 
which made a different man of him, 
and from which he afterwards dated 
the beginning of another existence. 

On his return one evening from a 
walk with Frank he found his father 
sitting up in the library awaiting him. 

"I want you to help me decide some- 
thing, Roy," said the elder Braddon, 
as his son seated himself. "And in or- 
der that you may understand matters, 
it will be necessary for me to tell you 
of certain incidents of my youth. 

"When I married your mother, it 
wasn't exactly a love match, though I 
was fond of her then, and grew to be 
very fond of her afterwards. But the 
first love of my heart had been given to 
a cousin of mine, an orphan, whom my 
parents had adopted. We had grown 
up together. The old people were dead 
against the marriage at first, for they 
didn't favor intermarriage; but they 
were very fond of her, and finding that 
my heart was set upon it, they gave 
way and at last consented. So it was 
settled, and I fancied myself the hap- 
piest man in New Bedford. But — well, 
my boy, it's an old story, and common 
enough. She had never loved me, I 
suppose. However that was, a week 
before we were to have been married 
she ran away with a Spanish fellow 
who had taught my sister Fannie sing- 
ing, Jose Torres, an idle scapegrace, 
with nothing in his favor but a hand- 
some face and a specious, taking man- 
ner. She ran away with him one morn- 
ing, leaving a penitent little note for 
me, saying that she had become a 
Catholic some time before, and that 
thev had been married at the cathe- 

"What a heartless hussy!" cried Roy. 
"Surely you could never forgive such 
treachery as that, father." 

"Well, my boy, it was a hard thing 
for a man to forgive, wasn't it? I was 
furious against her at first. But little 
by little I began to think of her differ- 
ently, remembering how young she 
was — just turned eighteen — and recall- 
ing looks and words of hers that had 
hinted at some secret trouble weighing 
on her mind, until I began to believe 
that she had struggled hard to be true 
to me, and had often wanted to tell me. 
So, you see, it ended by my' forgiving 

His son shrugged his shoulders with 
an involuntary expression of contempt 
for his father's weakness. "I could 
never have brought myself to do that," 
he said. 

"Ah, you think not, Roy," answered 
the old man, "you think not. But when 
a man has once loved a woman, her 
face is always rising up before him, 
pleading to him to think tenderly of 
her, let her have treated him as badly 
as she may. And it always ends with 
his forgiving her. The memory of the 
days when he thought she loved him 
counteracts all else. It always ends so." 

"Never with me!" cried the young 
man. "Nothing on earth could induce 
me to forgive a woman who had jilted 

The old man shook his head. "Youth 
has many ideals that age dispels," he 
answered sadly. "You will find it so, 
my boy, when you have lived my time. 
But to return — I received a letter from 
that woman to-day — the last she ever 
wrote. She is dead. Another hand, at 
the end of her letter, tells me that, her 
daughter's. She is dead, and has left 
one child, a girl, the last of a large 
family. Torres took her out to the 
West Indies, it seems, where they did 
well enough for many years, but had 
much sorrow, the climate killing their 
children one after another, until this 
girl was the only one left. Then came 
reverses. The man's health failed him, 
and ten years ago he died. After that 
the poor soul kept herself and the child 



by teaching. She was always a sweet 
singer, with a voice as clear and fresh 
as a skylark's, and I think it was that 
fellow's music which tempted her away 
from me. And so she got on some- 
how, she says in the letter, until she 
felt death close at hand; and then, not 
having one friend in the world whose 
bounty she could entreat for her child, 
saving myself, and knowing that I was 
a good man, she says, poor soul, she 
turned to me, beseeching me, for char- 
ity's sake, if not for the memory of 
those days when I loved her, to be- 
friend her orphan daughter. She 
doesn't ask me to do much for the girl, 
not to adopt her, or maintain her in a 
life of idleness ; only to put her in some 
way of earning her living, and to 
keep her from falling into dangerous 

"I received the letter this morning. 
The girl is in Boston. What am I to 
do, Roy? I leave it to you. I am 
nearing the end, my boy; and what- 
ever I have saved is saved for you; 
whatever I spend is so much out of 
your pocket. What shall we do with 
Julia Torres?" 

"It is hard for a woman to get her 
living noAvadays," Roy answered 
thoughtfully. "A young woman, too, 
and a foreigner, as you might say. And 
surely, we shouldn't consider the ex- 
pense. I shall never need half of what 
you will leave me. She might live here 
with us. Mrs. Davis would take good 
care of her." 

"It is generous of you to say that, 
my boy. Just as I wished you to; just 
as I wished you to." 

And so Julia Torres came to the old 
mansion on Union street. 

She had a hundred little arts by 
which women can embellish the dullest 
homes, and little by little, having found 
herself privileged to do these things, 
she began to exercise them. Quaint 
old jars and vases and cups and teapots 
that had been hidden away in remote 
closets, came out of their hiding places, 
blackened with the dust of ages, and 
were placed about here and there, mak- 
ing patches of light and color in the 

darksome rooms. The ponderous old 
furniture was polished into a kind of 
beauty, and by a new disposition of 
old material, she brought light and 
brightness into gloomy corners. Flow- 
ers bloomed here and there in the win- 
dows. There was a new atmosphere in 
the house generally, and Roy felt the 
change greatly. 

He also found that he did not care 
quite so much for the society of his 
friend Ryder. It was midwinter, which 
was excuse enough for the suspension 
of their evening rambles; but he felt 
that he was not treating his friend 
fairly, and to make amends, invited him 
to dine with them once or twice a 
week. It may have been that he 
wanted to hear Julia's praises from the 
lips of the friend whose judgment he 
believed in; at any rate, he was grati- 
fied when Frank spoke enthusiastically 
of the beauty of her dark eyes and the 
charm of her singing. Often in the 
evening she sang for them, accompany- 
ing herself on the old piano, at which 
her father had taught her mother. Her 
voice was a clear, thrilling soprano, 
and her touch vibrant with tenderness 
and feeling. She sang all the old bal- 
lads which the elder Braddon loved, 
and in this way crept into the old 
man's affection. 

Roy was no musician, but her sing- 
ing had a certain soothing influence on 
him; a little melancholy, perhaps, 
awakening a dim sense of sadness in 
his breast, that was all. He could 
scarcely have distinguished one of her 
songs from another without the words. 
He felt this deficiency of his somewhat 
keenly when Frank Ryder was with 
them, for Frank was possessed of a 
fine baritone and considerable taste for 
music, and often sang duets with Julia. 
It seemed to bring the two closer to- 
gether, and occasionally Roy felt a 
pang of jealousy. He was angry with 
himself for the feeling and made a 
great effort to overcome it, asking his 
friend to the old house oftener because 
of this secret weakness. 

"What fear need I have of him if she 
loves me?" he argued with himself, 



"and if not, what can it matter whom 
she sees?" 

The young man watched her closely 
and fancied himself secure in her love. 
There was much of conceit in his na- 
ture. He felt that she must know how 
much he loved her, and that he had 
only to speak when the fitting time 
came. Always his dreams were of a 
future in which she was to be his wife. 
He could not think of himself a mo- 
ment apart from her. The possibility 
that this desire of his heart might be 
denied him never entered his mind. 

It w r as while he was lingering in this 
state of blissful contemplation that a 
business emergency necessitated his 
presence in New York. He never for- 
got their parting. It was a calm, still 
evening, early in May. Julia went with 
him to the hall door to bid him good-by. 
For the first time he kissed her. It was 
a long, passionate kiss, and he fancied 
that it was at once the declaration and 
seal of his love. She could not misun- 
derstand him after that. She uttered a 
little cry of mingled astonishment and 
reproof and ran back into the hall. He 
turned as he went down the steps and 
saw her looking out at him from the 
open door, with the evening sun upon 
her face. And that picture — the pale 
young face framed in the soft, brown 
hair, and the shadowy eyes — haunted 
him all through the journey and for 
many nights thereafter. 

From New York he went on to Phil- 
adelphia, a branch office of his firm 
there needing his personal attention. 
At this point a telegram was handed 
him announcing the sudden illness of 
his father, and directing him to come 
immediately home. When he reached 
there the old man was dead. 

"He fell in a fit, sir," the old butler 
told him as he opened the door, "and 
he never spoke again." 

Roy dropped his suitcase in the hall 
and went up the stairs to the solemn 
death chamber. His father lay in a 
long, oak-paneled room, with four tall, 
narrow windows, which had been 
gloomy enough even when inhabited 
by the living. He had scarcely known 

until that moment how much he had 
loved his father, or how bitter a blow 
their parting was to be. For a time 
even the image of Julia Torres was 
blotted from his mind. He stayed in 
that darkened room for a long time; 
then he arose and went slowly down 
the stairs in search of Julia. 

She heard his footsteps and came for- 
ward to meet him. She gave him both 
her hands, looking at him with a grave, 
pitying face. 

"I am so sorry for you, dear Roy," 
she said; "so sorry for my own sake, 
too. I loved him very dearly. Indeed, 
I had reason to love him," she added, 
with a little choking sob. 

They went into the parlor and she 
told him of his father's last moments. 
He listened in silence, only interrupt- 
ing once to ask if his father had been 
conscious after the first attack. It was a 
warm evening, and the faint hum of 
the declining city life came to them 
through the open windows with a dis- 
tant, drowsy sound. The old house 
had that aspect of profound dullness 
peculiar to a habitation in the heart of 
a city on a summer evening, when man- 
kind has a natural yearning for the 
green leaves of the woodland. 

But Roy had no such yearnings. 
To him the shadowy, oak-paneled room 
was a paradise. He forgot that he had 
seen his kind old father's face still in 
death but a few minutes before ; he 
could think of nothing but Julia's pen- 
sive face as she sat by the open win- 
dow, with the low western sunlight 
shining in upon her, as on the evening 
he had kissed her good-by. The words 
which he meant to speak did not come 
to him easily; he loved her too much 
to be over-bold. But in that last happy 
hour of his youth there was no shadow 
of doubt in his mind. He had never 
contemplated the possibility of a re- 
fusal ; he had never admitted that he 
had a rival; he had never doubted that 
she loved him. In perfect faith he had 
accepted her grateful affection, her 
frank, sisterly regard, as tokens of the 
love to be given to him when he 
pleaded for it. He was rather ashamed 



to be so backward in pleading, that 
was all. 

"Julia," he said, drawing nearer to 
her, "I have something to say to you." 

"And I to you, cousin," she an- 
swered, with a sudden bright flush. 
"There was something I wanted to tell 
you for two weeks before you went 
away, but I hadn't the courage. And 
yet I know how good you are, and that 
nothing in the world would make you 
unkind to me." 

He took her hand tenderly in his. 
"Unkind, dear! Surely, you know I 
could never be that." 

"Of course not. And that is why it 
has been so foolish of me to feel afraid 
of speaking frankly. I think you must 
know how happy my life has been in 
this dear old house, and how grateful I 
shall always be to you and your dear 
father for all of your goodness to me. 
But — but — we are both young, and it 
would not do for us to go on living 
here this way. People would talk; 
Mrs. Davis told me as much this after- 
noon. And I — I have had the offer of 
a new home. Don't think me ungrate- 
ful, or that I want to run away from 
you. Indeed, I cannot fancy a sister 
loving her only brother better than I 
love you. But I must go away — every- 
one says that." 

She looked at him a trifle anxiously, 
the blush fading slowly from her face. 

"A new home?" he questioned. "Why 
should you go away, Julia? What need 
you care if some malicious fool should 
slander us. It is hardly possible for 
malice to go so far as that; and it 
can't matter to us, because — " and then, 
without finishing the sentence, he ex- 
claimed, "Who offered you this new 
home, as you call it?" 

"Mrs. Ryder — Frank's mother — has 
asked me to stay with her until I am 
married." She was blushing again, and 
her heavy lids dropped over her glori- 
ous dark eyes. 

"Till you are married !" he gasped. 

"Yes, Roy, dear. I ought to have 
told you before, perhaps, but I 
couldn't. Frank has asked me to be his 
wife, and — I love him very dearly; we 

are going to be married in a month or 
two. We shan't be rich, of course, for 
Frank must care for his mother; but 
we can live happily on very little. And 
we love each other so truly — " 

The ghastly change in his face 
stopped her suddenly in the midst of 
her confession. 

"Cousin Roy !" she exclaimed (it was 
her pet name for him), "you are not 

He sprang to his feet, and she saw 
the look of a stricken animal in his 

"Angry!" he cried, in a voice she 
would not have recognized. "You 
have broken my heart! Didn't you 
know that I loved you? Didn't you 
know that every hope I had was built 
on the security of your love? When I 
kissed you that night before I went 
away, if you had doubted before, could 
you doubt then what I felt for you?" 

"Indeed, Roy," she cried, "I thought 
it was only a brother's kiss. We have 
been like brother and sister. And I 
never dreamed that you cared for me 
more than you might have cared for a$ 

"Of course not!" He laughed bit- 
terly. "That is a way with you 
women, I believe. And I should have 
known from the way your mother 
treated my father. History has re- 
peated itself. And he! The traitor* 
the false friend I brought into this 
house, the sneaking scoundrel who 
came into our firm a beggar — to go be- 
hind my back and steal you !" 

"Stop Roy," she commanded "I 
cannot hear you say those things of 
him. How did he know you cared for 
me? It is too cruel, too unjust! Roy, 
be reasonable! Be like yourself! 
Whatever sin I have committed against 
you has been done in ignorance. I 
shall never cease to be grateful to you. 
Be generous, Cousin Roy; tell me that 
you forgive me." 

"Forgive you!" he cried, in a blind 
fury. "To the last hour of my life — if 
I live a hundred years — I shall never 
speak to you ! I pray God I may never 
see your face again '" 



With these words on his lips he 
went out of the room, went away from 
her, with the sullen determination to 
hate those two who had wronged him, 
until the end of his days. 

He left the house at once and walked 
rapidly in the direction of Acquishnett. 
All night long he plodded blindly along 
the country roads, with no feeling of 
fatigue, no consciousness of his sur- 

It was daylight when he eventually 
came to a recognition of his where- 
abouts and retraced his steps. His 
clothes were white with dust, and his 
face wan and haggard. One of the 
sour-faced maid-servants was cleaning 
the front steps when he went in, and 
gasped at him aghast, but he scarcely 
saw her. He made his toilet with a 
half-mechanical sense of the proprie- 
ties, and then went down to that very 
ordinary parlor which a little while 
ago had seemed to him such a pleasant, 
home-like room. 

There was a solitary breakfast laid 
for one, and instead of Julia's presence, 
there was a little note addressed to 
him, a tender, pleading little letter, 
assuring him once again of her grati- 
tude for his goodness to a friendless 
orphan, beseeching him once more to 
be generous, and telling him that, act 
toward her as he would, she would 
never cease to be his affectionate and 
grateful friend. 

Three times he read the letter 
through, and then, with a fierce look 
of mingled hate and rage on his face, 
crushed it in his hand and flung it into 
the empty grate. Having done this, he 
determined to recommence his life 
upon a new system; to shut the false 
girl's image out of his mind and to de- 
vote all his energy and thought to his 

The first letter he wrote when he 
took his seat as the head of the firm on 
the second day after his father's fu- 
neral was a brief, business-like epistle 
to Frank Ryder, informing him that 
his services were no longer required, 
and that if he preferred a pecuniary 
compensation in lieu of the ordinary 

term of notice, such a course would be 
most agreeable to the new head of the 
firm of Braddon & Braddon. 

The answer to this communication 
came very promptly. It told the new 
head of Braddon & Braddon that Mr. 
Ryder required neither notice nor 
compensation, and that he should have 
quitted the office forever before his 
note could be delivered to Mr. Brad- 
don, Jr. 

How far Roy Braddon succeeded in 
shutting out the image of the girl he 
loved was known only to himself. 
From the hour in which he left her on 
the night of his father's death, he had 
never spoken of her to any human 
creature. Whatever curiosity he may 
have felt as to her fate he kept har- 
bored in his own mind, making no at- 
tempt to discover what had become of 
her. He lived on without change of 
any kind in the dull old mansion. 
Friends he had none. The only man 
who had ever been his companion was 
Frank Ryder. 

So his life went on: Coming home 
every day to the same lonely rooms,- 
eating and drinking in solitude ; sitting 
alone through the long evening with a 
neglected book lying on the table be- 
side him ; or wandering alone in the fa- 
miliar haunts that he had known in his 
rambles with Frank Ryder long ago. 
For any pleasure or variety there was 
in his life, he might as well have been a 
wretched slave toiling in the jungles of 
the Congo. 

Ten years passed before he again 
saw Julia Torres. In a crowded street 
she flashed past him one afternoon — a 
tall, slim figure dressed in black, with 
great dark eyes and a wan, tired look- 
ing face. It was not until she had 
passed him some moments that he 
knew, by the quickened beating of his 
heart, who it was that had been so near 
him. Impelled by a half-recognized 
curiosity to learn the circumstances of 
her life, he turned and attempted to 
follow her; but she was lost in the 
crowd before he had been able to re- 
cover himself sufficiently to look about 
for her. 



She was poor — he was sure of that; 
he had read as much in the one brief 
glance into her wan face. Poor and 
careworn, alone in the city streets ; jos- 
tled by the crowd; probably hurrying 
home to some sordid refuge — she for 
whom life could have been one bright 
holiday, he thought bitterly. He 
laughed aloud as he contrasted her 
probable misery with the home he could 
have given her ; not that dull old house 
which had served as a home for his 
mother and grandmothers, but a subur- 
ban palace set in a fairy-land of gar- 
dens and flowers. How different life 
might have been for both of them, he 
reflected, had she loved him. He hated 
her with a double hatred as he thought 
of what they had both lost; hated her 
for the wrong done to herself, as well 
as for the wrong done to him. But still 
her face haunted him with its pinched, 
hungry look and its pitiful expression 
of constant sorrow. 

From that time forward the face that 
had flashed past him in the street 
was always with him. She had haunted 
him before in her girlish grace and 
beauty; she came before him now like 
the sad shadow of her former self. But 
still he told himself that he hated her. 
What was her poverty to him? If she 
had been on her knees before him 
pleading for help he would have been 
deaf to her prayers. She had chosen 
for herself. Let her abide the issue. 

A year later he saw her husband. A 
faint flush lit up Ryder's face as he rec- 
ognized the son of his old employer. 
Involuntarily he opened his lips to 
speak to him, but Braddon brushed 
past him and hurried on, very pale and 
with a dark, forbidding countenance. 
Ryder, irresolute, looked after him for 
a moment, then gave a heavy sigh and 
walked on. Whatever vague hope had 
impelled him to approach his erstwhile 
friend died out at the sight of his pale, 
stern face. 

Thus Roy Braddon twice lost the 
opportunity of ascertaining the fate of 
these two who had once been so dear 
to him. All the time his persistent 
nursing of his hatred made him more 

moody and taciturn. He abjured all 
sentiment, but always when the anni- 
versary of his father's death came 
around he felt a loneliness and isola- 
tion that made the grim old house a 
horror to him. The paneled walls 
seemed to close in on him like the walls 
of a vault. 

The year following his meeting with 
Frank Ryder this anniversary seemed 
to affect him more than usual. He 
wandered into the library after dinner 
and tried to read, but a sudden par- 
oxysm of despondency seized him and 
he flung his book aside and hurried 
from the house. Once in the open air, 
it mattered little to him where he went. 
The clocks were striking seven and the 
traffic of the day was almost over. He 
had the streets practically to himself. 
It was a supreme relief to him to es- 
cape from the silent, shadowy man- 
sion, always haunted by the ghost of 
what once had been, and get out under 
the open sky. He walked on, careless 
of where he went, making his way 
through obscure streets and by-ways, 
until he found himself in a bleak, bar- 
ren outskirt, where there was a ghastly 
patch of waste ground, intersected by 
shabby streets of newly built houses, 
the greater part of which seemed to be 

The exploration of this sordid neigh- 
borhood afforded him a fierce kind of 
amusement. Perhaps it was pleasant 
for him, in his mood, to contrast the 
squalor which manifested itself in a 
hundred ways with his own prosperous 
condition. If he had no friends or none 
to share it with him, he could at least 
congratulate himself in the comparison 
of his lot with that of the people about 
him. He turned presently into a darker 
and lonelier street than the others. Here 
there were more vacant houses, and an 
air of desolation more profound than 
elsewhere, yet the houses were better 
and larger, and had little gardens 
around them. 

The place was so silent that he could 
hear the low, suppressed sobbing of a 
child who was standing on the other 
side of the street, looking down at 



something on the ground — a humble 
image of despair. He was not a hard- 
hearted man in a general way, and 
could not witness the child's distress 
unmoved. He crossed the street 
quickly and went up to her. She was 
small and delicate looking, with an air 
of shabby gentility, and a pale, 
thoughtful little face ; a girl who might 
have been any age, from eight to 

"What is the matter, child?" he 

She looked up at him through her 
tears. "Oh, I don't know what to do," 
she sobbed, brokenly. "I dropped the 
bottle of medicine and it broke ! And 
we haven't any money to get more. 
Mamma will have to go without the 
medicine, and she is — " She could not 

He had heard of children of the 
street who were taught to relate such 
incidents for the purpose of inducing 
charitable contributions from prosper- 
ous looking strangers, and for a mo- 
ment he searched her face steadily, but 
such thoughts of her failed to find lodg- 
ment in his breast. There was some- 
thing about her which inspired only 
confidence, and in the end a tender pity, 
which he had not known for years, ac- 
tuated him. 

"Come back to the druggist's with 
me," he said, taking her hand, "and I 
will get you another bottle." 

"Oh, thank you !" she exclaimed, 
gratefully. Then after a moment, "but 
I ought not to take it from you — from 
a stranger. Mamma would make me 
take it back if she knew." 

"Your mamma needn't know, unless 
you tell her. And if she is very sick 
and needs the medicine, it is your duty 
to take it and not tell her." 

She looked up into his face doubt- 
fully for a moment; then she gave his 
hand a confident little squeeze and fol- 
lowed him without a word. They were 
a considerable distance from the drug 
store and he had time to study her as 
she walked along beside him, looking 
up into his face and answering all his 
questions with a meek gratitude that 

touched him profoundly. For the first 
time he realized how hard the lot of 
the poor must be when such a trifling 
service seemed so much to one of them. 

The girl was eleven years old, she 
told him, and the eldest of a family of 
three — two boys and a girl. Her father 
was dead, and her mother had been sick 
for the past month; it was her heart, 
the doctors said. 

All this she told him with childish 
frankness, and yet with the womanly 
tones of a child whom hard experience 
had made older than her years. They 
found the drug store still open and had 
the prescription made up again. Then 
he went home with her. His interest 
in her had become all absorbent, and 
he felt a great curiosity to see where 
she lived. Such a child might have 
been his, he reflected, if Julia Torres 
had not proved unfaithful. 

A dim light was shining from one of 
the front windows when they arrived 
at her home. She led him into a bare, 
wretched room, the furniture of which 
was of the scantiest and shabbiest. An 
unkempt woman, carrying a candle, 
emerged from the back premises as 
they entered. 

"What a long time you have been, 
Mary," she exclaimed, looking curi- 
ously at Braddon. "Your ma has been 
frightened about you." 

"I stumbled, and broke the medi- 
cine," said the little girl, lowering her 
voice almost to a whisper. 

"Broke it!" exclaimed the woman. 
"And not another cent in the house. 
Oh, Mary!" 

"But this gentleman got another bot- 
tle for me," the child hastened to add. 
"You must thank him, Sally." 

"Indeed I will," said the woman, 
heartily. "It was very kind of you, 
sir. I don't know what we should have 
done. Her mother is very sick." 

"Isn't she any better, Sally?" asked 
the little girl, eagerly. 

"She's been very quiet; but she's al- 
ways that. Complaints never pass her 
lips. And the children have all .gone 
to bed — where you should be, too. My, 
it's nearly ti o'clock." 



"Yes," put in Braddon. "It's too 
late for this child to be about. And 
she seems far from strong." 

"Ah, sir," said the woman, shaking 
her head sadly, "if you knew what 
that child goes through and how pa- 
tient she is, and what an old head for 
her years she has, you would not won- 
der that she doesn't look strong. She's 
kept the home together somehow, when 
things must have all gone to nothin' if 
it hadn't been for her." 

Braddon turned his eyes from a cu- 
rious survey of the meager appoint- 
ments of the room and looked at the 
girl. She had such an air of grace and 
refinement in her premature womanli- 
ness that he was more interested in her 
than he could have believed it possible 
for him to be in any creature so far re- 
moved from himself. He touched her 
hair caressingly. 

"I'll come back to-morrow evening 
to inquire how your mother is," he 
said, "if you do not object." 

"I should be very grateful to you," 
she answered, in her quaint, grown-up 
manner. "I'll take this medicine up to 
mamma now. And I'll remember what 
you said," she added, as she left the 

Braddon followed the woman to the 
front door, and as he passed out slipped 
a five dollar bill into her hand. He 
had felt, somehow, that he could not 
offer money to the child, although she 
had so freely confessed their poverty. 

He thought of her many times the 
next day in the midst of his business. 
She had awakened an interest in him 
which lifted, though ever so little, the 
flood-gates of affection which had been 
pent up in his heart for so many years. 
At dusk he drove to the house in a cab, 
carrying all manner of small luxuiies 
which he fancied might be appreciated 
by the invalid, and the sensation of do- 
ing something personally for another 
brought with it a satisfaction he had 
never before experienced. He was not 
content even with this, but catching 
sight of an attractive shop window on 
his way, stopped the cab and bought a 
glittering work-box for his little favor- 

ite. He was certain that it would please 
her vastly, even if it were not of much 
use to her. 

He found the room into which he 
had been shown the previous evening 
very neat and tidy, and the little girl 
at work on some sewing by the light of 
a tall stand lamp, which made her look 
very small, indeed. He was evidently 
expected, and she flushed with pleas- 
ure when the elderly woman led him 
in ; and her rapture was unbounded 
when she saw what he had brought. 

"Oh," she cried, her eyes shining as 
she took out the contents of the bas- 
ket, "the doctor has said so often that 
mamma ought to have wine, and we 
couldn't give it to her. You are like an 
angel come down from heaven !" 

He waited until she had taken her 
mother some of the wine and fruit he 
had brought, and learned how she had 
enjoyed it, and then went away with 
the thanks of the little girl ringing in 
his ears, and smiling at her delight in 
her new work-box. 

After that Roy Braddon became a 
very frequent visitor in the little home. 
He contrived to ascertain the name and 
address of the landlord from the 
woman Sally, and paid the rent for the 
cottage three months in advance. He 
caused some furniture which had been 
stored in the attic of his home for years 
to be sent out to them. Very rarely 
did he appear empty handed, and he 
exhibited a marvelous ingenuity in the 
judicious selection and variety of his 
offerings. The younger children had 
been presented to him, and he catered 
to their small wants with an almost 
child-like delight in childish things. It 
was so new to him to be interested in 
any human creature ; so new for him to 
live out of himself. 

As his intimacy with Mary in- 
creased, she told him a great deal of 
her mother's struggles to earn a living 
for them, and of the kindness of Sally, 
who was a near neighbor; until he felt 
that he had more than a charitable in- 
terest in the little household. And 
when the time came finally that the in- 
valid was able to sit up for a few hours 



daily, he was as glad as the rest of 

"Mamma will be downstairs to-mor- 
row," Mary told him one evening. "And 
she wants you to come and have tea 
with us, so that she can thank you." 

"I don't want any thanks, my dear," 
he answered. "What I have done has 
been for my own pleasure. But I shall 
be glad to see your mother." 

He found the little girl watching for 
him at the gate the next evening when 
he arrived, bleak and cold as the 
weather was, without hat or coat, her 
bright auburn hair blowing in the win- 
try wind. She waved to him joyfully. 

"Everything is ready," she cried, 
"and the parlor looks so nice mamma 
won't know it. She'll think the fairies 
have been at work. Come and see! 
She's not down yet, but she will be in 
a few minutes." 

Braddon took his seat where Mary 
indicated — the post of honor, opposite 
the invalid's sofa. Her radiant, joyous 
face moved him deeply. To think that 
such small things could give such hap- 
piness — and he had missed it! That 
was always the burden of his thoughts 
at such times. 

Presently there came the sound of 
light, feeble steps upon the stairs, and 
the faint rustling of a woman's dress. 
The door was opened softly, and a 
woman entered — a tall, pale woman, 
with dark, luminous eyes. 


She echoed his cry faintly, and tot- 
tered a few paces forward as if she 
would have fallen at his feet. But he 
caught her in his arms and held her to 
his breast. All thought of his hate of 
her had vanished. Her wan, drawn 
face, beautiful to him still, even in the 
wreck of her loveliness, shut out all 
else save that she was the only woman 
he had ever loved. 

After a moment he led her to the 
couch and seated himself beside her, 
while the child looked on with wide- 
open, astonished eyes. 

"I don't want to know anything of 
your past, Julia," he whispered, "only 
why it is that you are not living under 
his name." 

"Didn't you know?" she faltered, a 
flush overspreading her face. "It was 
in the papers. He — he — took some 
money that was not his, and they sent 
him to prison. I moved and changed 
my name to save my children from dis- 

"Then he is—" 

"He died shortly after he entered the 
prison," she said. "And you, Roy?" 

"I want you to come back home and 
take your old place," he said tenderly. 
"Just as if nothing had ever happened, 
and all of this had never been. I want 
this little girl, who has made a new 
man of me, to be with me always." 

For answer she laid her head upon 
his shoulder, and Mary came over and 
nestled against his knee. 



With outward face serene they went their way, 
In sure belief that it were best to part, 

When lo ! grief came with tender hands to tie 
Fore'er the slipping bonds of heart to heart. 

Napoleonic Memoirs — II 


BOURIENNE'S memoirs, unfor- 
tunately, are not to be trusted 
at all. Even if they were 
not written, as Savary states, by 
an unknown person, and signed by 
Bourienne after he became demented, 
the character of the man is very 
much against them. He was dis- 
charged from Napoleon's service for 
complicity in a shameful stock-jobbing 
operation ; and though Napoleon after- 
wards relented and sent him as consul 
to Hamburg, he never permitted Bou- 
rienne to be near him after that time. 
His story in regard to Napoleon's 
amour with the wife of a captain of 
infantry lacks confirmation. His talk 
is too much like that of a discharged 

Romancing comes naturally to a 
French woman. Both Madame Junot 
and Madame de Remusat had griev- 
ances of their own against the Em- 
peror. It is well known that the father 
of Madame de Remusat attached him- 
self to Tallyrand, and went out of 
office with him in 1810. Madame Junot's 
grievance was of a more subtle kind. 
Her husband was one of the Emperor's 
favorite commanders, and yet he never 
was created a marshal of France. A 
lack of dignified character may have 
been a sufficient reason for this, but his 
wife, of course, could not understand 
it, and unquestionably felt it as a 
slight. In her earlier household remi- 
niscences of Napoleon she appears in 
auite an amiable light, but she did 
not sustain this character in after life, 
and the Emperor spoke of her as rather 
a flashy sort of person. The society she 
moved in certainly was not high-toned 
— witness the remark she recounts, 
made in company, about Pauline Bona- 
parte's ears — and her small animosities 

are sometimes very amusing. One of 
the results of Madame de Remusat's 
memoirs has been the republication of 
Las Cases's, O'Meara's. and other me- 
moirs more favorable to Napoleon. 

It is impossible to determine what is 
fact and what may be fiction in these 
feminine memoirs. 

It is remarkable what a strong Creole 
element pervaded Parisian society dur- 
ing the second empire. Madame de 
Montholon was a Creole, and an Eng- 
lish lady who resided some time at St. 
Helena, considered her a very tyran- 
nical wife. Josephine could not very 
well be that ; but all accounts agree that 
she was one of the most extravagant 
women ever known to the historical 
pen. Napoleon, after praising her nat- 
ural grace of manner, and the pleasant- 
ness of her disposition to O'Meara, con- 
cluded with the blunt remark that she 
rolled up mountains of debt and then 
told lies about them. She probably pre- 
varicated from embarrassment, but all 
accounts agree that while Napoleon was 
in Egypt she contracted a mass of debto 
equal to several times the amount of 
his salary and if he had not risen to 
autocratic power he never could have 
liquidated them. False pride is the be- 
setting sin of womankind. Josephine 
considered herself above paying for 
the articles that she purchased, or even 
inquiring their price. She wished to 
please everybody, which is the same 
as pleasing nobody; and she purchased 
almost every article that was offered 
her. Las Cases states that she bought 
thirty-eight hats in one month. Such a 
woman could have little depth, either 
of character or of affection. There 
was nothing Napoleon hated so much 
as foolishness; and it is probable 
that he contemplated separating from 


intiiig by Melssonler 




Josephine a long time before he did 


Marie Louise having been born to 
the people, acted very differently. She 
only purchased what she really wished 
to have, and paid for it at the time. She 
showed true dignity of character dur- 
ing the trying scenes of 1814, and her 
only fault would seem to have been a 
lack of modesty — natural enough con- 
sidering the family she came from. 

Napoleon did not often compare men 
to animals, but when he did there was 
a reason for it. He thought Sir Hud- 
son Lowe looked like a tiger cat; and 
that is just what he did look like ac- 
cording to the steel portrait in the last 
edition of Las Cases's memoirs. A 
long lean neck, a shallow pate, and 
sharp angular features bespeak a most 
unamiable disposition. His face is a 
bad one, and the only talent he seems 
to have possessed was that of tor- 
menting those who were under his au- 
thority. His detention of a portrait of 
Napoleon's son, which was sent from 
Vienna, was typical of all his proceed- 
ings. Napoleon informed him in their 
third and last interview that he and 
Lord Bathurst would only be remem- 
bered by posterity for their inhuman 
treatment of him. It was safe enough 
to predict that. The British government 
spent between two and three hundred 
thousand dollars a year to keep Napo- 
leon at St. Helena, and yet the rooms he 
occupied there were like those of an 
American tenement-house ; nor was his 
table much better served. He certainly 
was not treated like a gentleman; and 
who was ultimately responsible for 
this so much as the Duke of Welling- 
ton? After O'Meara's return to Eng- 
land the facts concerning Napoleon's 
confinement became widely known, 
and it is not a supposable case that 
Wellington should have been ignorant 
of them. He was the autocrat of Great 
Britain for the time being, and the 
thought of Napoleon must have been 
of daily occurrence to him. As Rose- 
bery says, Wellington was not a gen- 
erous adversary, and Wellington was 
the real government. 

One other remark of Rosebery de- 

serves a momentary consideration. He 
speaks of Napoleon as not having a 
good seat in the saddle. I suppose 
some Englishmen would think more of 
this than they would of losing a bat- 
tle. A man with a figure like Na- 
poleon's could hardly make a fine-look- 
ing horseman; but he rode over more 
battlefields than any commander be- 
fore or since Julius Caesar, and we do 
not hear that he was thrown except 
at Arcole, where his hoise was mortal- 
ly wounded. At Arsis-Sur-Aube he 
rode onto a bursting bombshell prob- 
ably with the intention of ending his 
life in that manner. His horse was dis- 
abled by the explosion, and yet Na- 
poleon kept his seat. He depended 
largely on rapid riding to escape cap- 
ture or assassination. In this way he 
once arrived in Paris before his minis- 
ters were cognizant that he had left 

Thiers's "Consulate and Empire" de- 
rives great advantage from the fact 
that the incidents of those times were 
still fresh in the memories of the 
actors. Thiers could obtain informa- 
tion from Napoleon's marshals, gen- 
erals, colonels, and even from the 
soldiers of the old guard. This has 
given his account a freshness and 
pictorial liveliness such as later writers 
will have to struggle for in vain, un- 
less they possess the genius of Tacitus 
or Carlyle. Karl Lemeke, in his 
"Aesthetics" takes notice that Thiers 
knew how to poetize; but the poetry 
was not in the man, but in his subject 
— the chivalrous crusade of a whole 
nation fighting against mighty odds to 
liberalize Europe and break the shackles 
of fossilized institutions. Thiers is by 
no means a classic. He is a diffuse, 
watery writer, and appears to have 
taken small pains with his sentences. 
His worst fault, however, is the con- 
stant harping on Napoleon's "inordi- 
nate ambition," which finally becomes 
as wearisome as the sound of the Al- 
pine horn to travelers over the Wen- 
gern Alps. 

Thiers understood politics too well 
to believe this himself, and the reason 
for it was obviously to obtain publica- 



tion for his book, under a Bourbon king. 
Louis Phillipe was a liberal, but we 
could not expect him to be so liberal as 
to permit the French people to under- 
stand that the Bonapartes were; right, 
and the Bourbons were wrong. Thiers, 
therefore, compromised to suit the sit- 
uation — no doubt reluctantly enough. 
There are few histories which do not 
suffer from similar perversions of the 

In spite of this we may fairly sup- 
pose that it was the "Consulate and 
Empire" which upset Louis Phillipe, 
and made a final end of the Bourbons. 
Its publication was of great assistance 
to Louis Napoleon's designs and this 
may have been more than Thiers ex- 
pected or wished for. 

No man, since the world began, has 
ever been so lied about as Napoleon. 
It is one measure of his importance. 
The British officers on the Northum- 
berland were never tired of question- 
ing Bertrand, Las Cases and the rest, 
concerning the emperor's character, 
habits of living, etc., and expressed 
much surprise at the replies they re- 
ceived. They admitted that he had been 
grossly misrepresented. This was the 
work of dishonest journalism, of which 
I have noticed the effect, even to the 
present day — improbable scandals, and 
stories of his cruelty and cowardice. 

Five hundred people will read the 
newspapers while one will read a digni- 
fied history; and of this five hundred, 
nine-tenths will believe what they read 
as if it were the Gospel of St. Maithew. 
During the peace of Amiens Napoleon 
complained to the Brisish Ministry of 
the atrocious calumnies concerning 
him that were published in English 
newspapers, but the ministry replied 
that they had no legal right to inter- 
fere with the liberty of the press, and 
his only remedy would be to enter a 
suit for libel in an English court. This 
was true enough, but it is not sur- 
prising that Napoleon should never af- 
terwards have approved of that form of 

Such calumnies would have been 
dangerous in Germany, as the death of 
the book-seller Koch afterward exem- 

plified; but the Prussians circulated 
wood-cuts of the infant Bonaparte cod- 
dled in the arms of a demon, and other 
pictures of dark and dubious insinua- 
tion. Such blackguardism always hap- 
pens in time of war, but it has never 
been so virulent or enduring as in Na- 
poleon's case, and this for most excel- 
lent reasons. The hereditary sov- 
ereigns and the titled aristrocracy 
could only justify their repeated at- 
tempts to suppress this champ?on of 
struggling humanity and incite their 
subjects and serfs to fight against him 
by the most shameless falsification. 
The same misrepresentation is now 
taking place in American history. Slav- 
ery is dead, but the pro-slavery spirit 
still lives, and sits in the professor's 
chair. They acted like the villain in 
Moliere's play, who screened himself 
by bringing accusations against the 
persons he had injured. They had, 
however, this kind of justification, in 
fact, that even if the peace of Amiens 
had been kept through Napoleon's life- 
time, such a ruler would have made the 
French nation so powerful that under 
a less judicious successor it would have 
been dangerous to its neighbors. 

O'Meara reports that Sir Hudson 
Lowe once remarked to him that Na- 
poleon's death "would be of little con- 
sequence, compared with the mischief 
that might ensue if he escaped — not so 
much of himself as in the revolutions 
that would be excited in various parts 
of Europe." This would seem to in- 
dicate that even subordinate officers in 
the British army understood the char- 
acter of the conflict they were en- 
gaged in better than they pretended 
Napoleon only escaped in death; but 
the revolutions took place, neverthe- 
less, and continued to take place until 
France, Spain, Italy, and even Prussia, 
were liberated from the despotism of 
Metternich and the so-called Holy Al- 
liance. The Tory leader in Parliament 
even declared at that time (1816) that 
the Anglo-Saxon race was the only one 
fit for a constitutional government. 

In Las Cases's memoirs there are 
statements made by Nanoleon himself, 
which strongly support the view I have 



taken of him in the preceding lecture. 
He speaks of the autocratic period of 
his government as a kind of dictator- 
ship, like those of Sulla and Caesar, 
"which would have come to an end 
when peace was firmly establshed." 
"He was necessary for the defence of 
France, and to preserve the principles 
of the Revolution. The coalition al- 
ways existed either openly or secret- 
ly." It was not the crowned heads of 
Europe that hated him, "so much as 
the aristocracy, which is always cold, 
implacable, and vindictive." They 
want everything for themselves. If he 
did dream of universal empire, it was 
his enemies that led him into it. He 
did not like the ceremonial of court 
life; and he had an idea if he lived long 
enough to abdicate in favor of his son. 
and to spend the evening of his life 
traveling from one capital to another 
examining into public affairs, giving ad- 
vice, and establishing new institutions 
for the benefit of the people. Savary 
alleges that Napoleon undertook his 
Egyptian expedition, for one leason, 
because he considered the sword-points 
of the enemy less dangerous than the 
jealousy of his fellow directors; and 
that the overthrow of the directory on 
his return was a question of self pres- 
ervation for himself and his friends. 
Thiers was of opinion that it prevent- 
ed the establishment of a pretorian 
government by the army, — like that of 
the Roman Empire. 

Better than Savary, and perhaps the 
best of all memoirs, are Napoleon's 
own. They are said to be inaccurate, 
but I, who have been over the whole 
subject seven or eight times, have 
not noticed this. There are inac- 
curacies in all histories, for three- 
fourths of history is written from mem- 
ory — either the writer's or some other 
person's. Napoleon himself has point- 
ed out mistakes in Heroditus, which no 
Greek scholar would seem to ha/e no- 
ticed; but Napoleon's signal merit is 
that he understood human nature. His 
account of the Marengo campaign is 
a match for Thucydides's description of 
the Syracusean expedition. John Ropes 
says that what happened at the battle 

of Marengo will probably never be 
known, but Napoleon gives such a clear 
and comprehensive account that we 
cannot only see the man fighting — 
the route of Victor's divisions, and the 
charge of Kelleman's cuirassiers — but 
we can perceive the working of 
Napoleon's mind and understand the 
plans of his adversary. There is no am- 
biguity in the tactics of this battle. 
Napoleon in his anxiety for Suchet, 
who was on the other side of the en- 
emy, pushed his right wing forward to 
Marengo, where it was attacked the 
next morning by the whole Austrian 
army, and was driven oui in gre.'it con- 
fusion. The enemy next fell upon Lan- 
nes, who commanded the center, but 
Lannes retreated in good order, always, 
as Napoleon says, refusing his left 
wing; and the effect of ihis movement 
was to draw the Austrians round in the 
arc of a circle ; so that they finally ex- 
posed their right flank to the attack of 
Dossaix and Kelleman, who were not 
slow to take advantage of this. Vic- 
tor's division was reformed, and in less 
than an hour the Austrian army had 
become a flying mob. It is a very rare 
book now, and ought to be republished 
with notes and corrections. It would 
be a pleasant contrast to the tame 
academic histories of the present day. 

After Napoleon's death, Sir Hudson 
Lowe, wandered about the earth ignor- 
ed by his former employers, and gener- 
ally avoided almost like a discharged 

Napoleon was in all respects an ex- 
ceptional man and has to be viewed 
exceptionally. His powers of endur- 
ance exceeded that of any other in- 
dividual of whom there is even a tradi- 
tion. He worked with his secretaries 
until they fell asleep from exhaustion; 
and at Arcole for four nights he never 
took off his boots. Before he was 
twenty-eight years old he had won 
seventeen battles. His features were 
refined and classic, but his earlier coins 
represent him with an uncommonly 
thick neck, and it may have been in 
some exceptional structure of the spinal 
column that his powers of endurance 
are to be accounted for. 

The Death of a God 


Julius Caesar, Act I, Scene II, 115-118. 

"And this man 
Is now become a god, and Cassius 
Is a wretched creature and must bend his body 
If Caesar carelessly but nod on him. ,, 

Antony and Cleopatra, Act II, Scene VI, 14-18. 

"What was it 
That mov'd pale Cassius to conspire? and what 
Made the all-honored, honest Roman Brutus 
With the arm'd rest, courtiers of beauteous freedom, 
To drench the Capitol ; but that they would 
Have one man but a man?" 


The life of Julius Caesar has been so 
minutely studied in its varied phases 
and so carefully related by eminent his- 
torians that it would seem as if the sub- 
ject had been well-nigh exhausted; yet 
one important fact has been so strange- 
ly neglected by historians and com- 
mentators that an attempt to set it 
forth with its due emphasis may not be 
out of place. 

What was it that made all of Caesar's 
friends withdraw their affection from 
him? What was it that caused the con- 
spirators, all men honored and digni- 
fied by high position, to dye their 
swords in his blood ? Why was it that 
there was not one movement made 
by a single senator to protect him. 
Ambition? Yes, but there was some- 
thing more grand, more solemn, more 
exalted than ambition. This man as- 
pired to no mere worldly trifles — the 
kingship, the diadem, the sceptre. He 
made himself a god and for that crime 
he was killed. 

Ambition has been the suspended 
plate which has been struck by most 
historians, and the monotone has met 
no responsive chord; it has been ham- 
mered upon so persistently that it has 

become thinned, and through the trans- 
parent film caused by this reiterated as- 
sertion a new idea appears. But one 
man in all these hundreds of years 
that have passed since Caesar's time 
has sounded a new note. Shakespeare, 
the elegiac dreamer? In the music of 
the quotations at the beginning of this 
article, that note can be heard. The 
third of a musical chord sounded alone 
is meaningless, but when the base note 
is added, when the root is joined with 
it, there is formed a harmonious sound 
that does call forth some response. 
This new note, then, may be looked 
upon as the root of that solemn, that 
awfully solemn and bitter chord that 
was struck on the Ides of March. 
Knough data and facts can be brought 
to bear upon the subject of Caesar's 
death to give it a new aspect, facts and 
data that cannot be ignored as carry- 
ing no weight whatever. 

The place where the Roman people 
in their frenzy cremated that great man 
has been covered by the dust of cen- 
turies. It was hidden for over a thou- 
sand years and only recently has that 
hallowed spot been uncovered. The 
exact location is now shown to tour- 



ists, to lovers of history, to those who 
revere the memory of him who there 
met his doom. Has not the real cause 
of his death been somewhat like that 
covered over by the dust of time, hid- 
den by the one thought, ambition? 
Possibly a little digging amongst the 
old writers may reveal the actual cause 
that has been so long forgotten. Per- 
haps it may clear up the mystery that 
surrounds that death, and may make 
ambition shine with a new lustre, a 
new glory ; not the ambition of worldly 
power, of dictatorship for life, of king- 
ship, but the ambition to be numbered 
amongst the immortals, to be wor- 
shiped like a divinity, to be actually 
a god. 

As far back in the history of Rome 
as 20 B.C. Appian tells us that Scipio 
Africanus asserted before his soldiers 
that he communicated with the gods 
in heaven; Sylla was declared the son 
of Venus at Athens in 84 B.C. ; but in 
the city of Rome these two men 
never dared make any pretensions to 
tampering with celestial power. Ser- 
torius, who had fought with the party of 
Marius, and who, after the defeat of 
that party fled to Spain. This same 
Sertorius who is esteemed by Momm- 
sen as one of the greatest men that 
Rome had produced up to the year 72 
B.C., spoke to his soldiers as one in- 
spired; he called himself "Son of the 
Virgin Rhea";, he was initiated into 
the Eleusinian mysteries and belonged 
to the Dionysian cult; he was always 
accompanied by a white fawn through 
which, he declared, he communicated 
with heaven. Pompey — but to speak of 
Pompey requires a slight review of the 
history of Asia Minor and Syria. 

When Alexander the Great brilliant- 
ly overran Syria, Asia Minor, and 
Egypt, and had made of these countries 
a glorious empire, he strove to surpass 
all other mortals by entering the temple 
of Jupiter Amnion and becoming the 
"Son of God." Madman, heroic mad- 
man though he may have been, his di- 
vinity was accepted as a fact and as 
a divinity he was worshiped. When 
this god could not abuse himself by 
drinking more than any other mortal 

could, he died, and in dying left his 
empire to be fought for by his gen- 
erals. These generals thought them 
selves little inferior to their leader 
and in turn adopted god-like titles. 
For centuries after the servile sub- 
jects of the different dynasties founded 
by these generals heaped these high- 
sounding titles on the heads of their 

It is, then, but natural to believe 
that when Pompey brought these 
kings, lords, and divinities under the 
power of Rome, he overcoming them 
must have been greater than they. 
Consequently, by the adulation, the 
praise, and the worship lavishly be- 
stowed upon him, the conqueror Pom- 
pey became a changed man. He 
marched through Judea, he entered 
Jerusalem, he did a thing unheard of 
in the annals of the history of the 
Jews, a thing done only once before. 
He penetrated the Holy of Holies. 
Why? Because he considered himself 
above ordinary men; he considered 
that he was bathed in a certain ichor 
from the gods on high. 

This man who had seen kings pros- 
trate themselves before him, this man 
who has been worshiped as a god, as 
a King of Kings in the East, when he 
neared Rome, majestically dismissed 
his army, a most unusual thing to do, 
and naturally in his exalted state of 
mind looked for a royal reception from 
the Senate and the Roman people. To 
his surprise he was received with 
such coldness that it completely un- 
nerved him. It was with difficulty 
that he won any recognition of his 
achievements. But his triumph com- 
pensated for the cold welcome he re- 
ceived. Adorned in rich robes, covered 
with jewels of every kind, crowned by 
the golden diadem that had once en- 
circled the brow of the mighty god 
Mithradates, and accompanied by three 
of the children of the greatest kings 
of Asia, this victorious Roman, this 
king and god in the East, drove along 
the Via Sacra in a triumphal car of 

The Pompey who left Rome and the 
Pompey who had returned were not 



the same man. The victor could not 
throw aside this cloak of dignity, even 
when he was once more surrounded 
by his friends in Rome. At his villa 
in Albanum he allowed Cicero, the 
republican Cicero, to lie at his feet 
without requesting him to arise. He 
broke the laws of Rome by making 
himself sole consul. He foolishly and 
with supreme conceit said, "I shall but 
strike my foot upon the ground and 
soldiers will arise." At Pharsalia he 
thought himself so invincible that 
when he had defeated Caesar he did 
not follow up his success by striking 
the decisive blow that would have made 
him victorious. 

Did Caesar allow himself to be 
sucked into the vortex of this whirlpool 
of assumed divinity that had drawn in 
so many great men before him? 

One thing alone would prove his 
deification, if there was nothing else, 
and that one thing has been silently 
accepted by most writers with 
the ordinary announcement of the 
fact that the Senate, either by his 
request or wishing to confer an honor 
upon him, called a month of the year 
after him. This is something that had 
never been done before in Rome, a thing 
that placed Caesar amongst the gods, as 
all the other months in the year were 
named after gods with the exception of 
the fifth to the tenth, which were num- 
bered according to the order in which 
they succeeded March, that month hav- 
ing been regarded at one time as the 
beginning of the year. 

But there are other facts equally 
important and some even more conclu- 
sive, which may briefly be reviewed. 
Caesar always called himself a son 
of Venus, thereby placing himself 
amongst the mythical beings which in 
those days were called gods. He 
early became a priest of Jupiter; and 
later pontifex maximus. He does not, 
except in his descent, seem to have 
aspired to anything more than what 
others had done. But after he had con- 
quered Pompey, after he had been to 
Alexandria, where Alexander the 
Great was buried, after he had viewed 
the body of that divinity which he al- 

ways tried to imitate, after he marched 
victoriously through Asia, he became 
like Pompey, a changed man. He be- 
came consul as often as he wished, 
dictator for life, he took the title of 
emperor, the surname Father of His 
Country, he placed his rtatues beside 
those of the kings of Rome, and he 
had a lofty couch spread for him in 
the theater. 

Still more ! and here is the most bril- 
liant of his heavenly aspirations; he 
placed on his tribunal in the senate 
house a golden chair; he had a con- 
secrated chariot; banners were un- 
furled to him as to a god, in the Cir- 
censian games ; he had temples, priests, 
altars, a bed of state in the temple, 
statues placed among the gods and a 
college of priests to attend to proper 
worship being given him. 

Would the reader wish more proof 
of his assumption of divinity? To such 
a pitch of loftiness had he arrived that 
he used such language as the follow- 
ing: "The republic is nothing but a 
name without substance or reality. 
Sylla was an ignorant fellow to ab- 
dicate the dictatorship." "Men ought 
to consider what is becoming when 
they talk to me, and look upon what 
I say as law." "The entrails will be 
more favorable when I please; and it 
ought not to be regarded as a prodigy 
that a beast should be found wanting 
a heart." 

A careful reading of the above para- 
graphs is so convincing, so surprisingly 
satisfying in its proof that Caesar did 
assume divine honors that it is mar- 
velous that the fact has been so gen- 
erally overlooked. Every statement 
in the line of proof can be substantiated 
by the references given at the end of 
this article. 

It is hardly necessary to comment 
on such an accumulation of evidence 
and a few words only on the placing of 
his statues in the temples, altars, etc., 
will suffice. That his image was in- 
cluded among those of the gods in the 
temples is sufficient evidence of Cae- 
sar's aspirations. Homage, therefore, 
had to be payed to him. In the East, 
where he was King of Kings, God of 



Gods, Lord of Lords, his feet were 
kissed. To be a god in Rome required 
the same tokens of abasement; there- 
fore he seated himself on his golden 
chair on his tribunal and as the sena- 
tors approached him the kissing of the 
divine toe was their privilege. He 
actually sat on his lordly throne, be- 
fore the temple of Venus Genetrix, 
near the bronze house that once 
supported the divine Alexander, 
now supplanted by the figure of his 
divine self. He sat there surrounded 
by all the effulgence of divine splendor 
and received the whole body of the 
Senate, seven hundred senators, their 
hands laden with the confirmation of 
high dignities. He sat there like a god 
and did not deign to rise to receive 
them. This was an insult that stung 
them all, stung them so severely 
that he lost everyone as a friend 
except the debauchee Antony, who de- 
graded himself still more by becom- 
ing and styling himself "Priest of the 
God Julius." 

It seems superfluous to add more 
facts than those already given; but as 
they are recorded in history, they must 
be given the respect they deserve. 
When he was offered the kingly crown 
by Antony in the Forum, he was clad 
m a purple robe— not purple-bordered, 
but a garment of royalty. Antony sat 
at his feet and when he handed the dia- 
dem to Caesar he knelt, he prostrated 
himself before him, but the diadem 
was refused. His house had a sacred 
gable and a steeple or pediment, which 
was permitted only on temples to gods. 
He often assumed robes of scarlet and 
appeared with a crosier in his hands, 
wearing the mitre and bearing the keys. 
When he had his triumph he had borne 
before him standards inscribed "The 
Invincible God." The gay and profli- 
gate Caelius, when he wrote to Cicero, 
referred to Caesar as "Son of Venus" 
and again "Heaven-descended Chief." 

It was the Ides of March of that 
eventful year. The senators, most of 
them men of high bearing, of good 
judgment, some loyal to their country, 
others only to themselves, waited the 
arrival of their chief, sixty of them 

nervously, anxiously watching the en- 
trance to the chamber in the Curia ad- 
joining the theatre of Pompey. When 
he did appear, they all arose and re- 
mained standing until he seated him- 
self. What did these sixty conspira- 
tors see in that man seated there? 
What did the other senators, the other 
seven hundred, see there? What did 
those men who owed their elevation 
to him, who received their wealth from 
him, what did those trusted generals 
who had fought side by side with him, 
what did those pardoned enemies, 
those men of the Pompey faction who 
owed their lives to him, what did all 
those men see seated on that golden 
chair? A man who had trampled on 
their liberty? A man who had 
assumed worldly titles? A man who 
had ruled Rome like a king for nearly 
five years, but who had not assumed 
the name? Other Romans had done 
that, other Romans had broken laws, 
other Romans had been ambitious. 
What then was this man's guilt? What 
had he done that others had not done? 
What was his crime? 

It was simply this : He made himself 
a god. 

There, before the statue of that other 
man who had become ruined by contact 
with the East, lay the body of the 
greatest Roman that ever lived, mur- 
dered, friendless, cared for only by 
three miserable slaves. There is no 
sadder picture than the description of 
that scene by Plutarch. 

When Alexander the Great died, his 
generals became gods. It was so with 
Caesar. After his death Herod in 
Jerusalem claimed that he was divine. 
Antony later became the bridegroom 
of Minerva at Athens and in Asia he 
called himself the "New Bacchus" and 
he declared that he was the lineal 
descendant of "Hercules." Sextus 
Pompeius, the son of Pompey, called 
himself "Son of Neptune" and de- 
manded to be worshiped as a god on 
earth. Octavius, the adopted son of 
the divine Julius, finally overcame 
these other gods and declared himself 
the "Son of God." 




In his inaugural address President 
Abbott Laurence Lowell referred to 
the readjustment of the elective sys- 
tem so as to produce a more rounded 
and consistent culture, closer relations 
between the college and the profes- 
sional schools, and the development of 
class unity through the social life, 
largely, of the freshmen, as important 
elements of his policy at Harvard Uni- 
versity. The following quotation from 
his address indicates the freshness and 
vitality of his attitude: 

"May we not say of the extreme 
elective system what Edmond Sherer 
said of democracy: that it is but one 
stage in an irresistible march toward 
an unknown goal. Progress means 
change, and every time of growth is a 
transitional era; but in a peculiar de- 
gree the present state of the American 
college bears the marks of a period of 
transition. This is seen in the com- 
paratively small estimation in which 
high proficiency in college studies is 
held, both by undergraduates and by 
the public at large; for if college edu- 
cation were closely adapted to the 
needs of the community, excellence of 
achievement therein ought to be gen- 
erally recognized as of great value. 
The transitional nature of existing 
conditions is seen again in the absence, 
among instructors as well as students, 
of fixed principles by which the choice 
of courses of study ought to be guided. 
It is seen more markedly still in the 
lack of any accepted view of the ulti- 
mate object of a college education." 


"Vermont is paying out nearly half 
the highway money raised in this state 
to-day for road work that is not worth 
the time it takes to collect the tax." — 
Rutland Herald. 

"Here are Rutland and Barre, both 
watching their water supply with anx- 
ious eyes, just at St. Albans did last 
summer. Yet in this mountainous 
state the springs and the brooks and 
the rivers should never run dry, and 
they never would if the forests were 
properly conserved. Perhaps these ex- 
periences will help to make converts 
to the policy of reforesting Vermont, 
and then keeping it reforested." — St. 
Albans Messenger. 


Speaking of the passing of old mari- 
time types while in respect to naval 
vessels the rapidity of this process is 
the great ever-evident fact, in the mer- 
chant marine it is more spectacular 
than actual. There recently passed 
away at his residence in Dorchester a 
gentleman who, although he did not 
enter the field until 1890, is reputed to 
have built more tonnage in wooden 
sailing vessels than any other man, 
firm, or corporation in the history of 
American navigation. His ships car- 
ried over a million tons of freight an- 
nually, and yet so unostentatiously did 
he manage this great enterprise that 
his business office was at his own 
house. Yet he designed his own ves- 
sels, raised the money for their con- 
struction, and retained the manage- 



Copyright by N. L. Stebbins 

The Enterprise in gala attire 

ment of them upon the high seas. This 
man was Mr. William F. Palmer, of 
Dorchester, Boston. 


Flames and the junk dealer, the fate 
of all good ships that sail the sea, 
have at last overtaken the Enterprise, 
to the no small sorrow of hundreds of 
men and boys. The ship was con- 
demned last year. In her day the En- 
terprise was accounted the swiftest 
and ablest war boat on the North At- 
lantic station. She was built in 1873 
and was sold as junk for $11,037. It is 
more than doubtful if a war vessel of 
the modern type could be sold for a 
fraction of that percentage of the origi- 
nal cost. 

To the usual handicap under which 
photography strives to reproduce a 
painting is added, in any attempt to 
represent by that means the work of 
Mr. Frank P. Fairbanks, a most un- 
fortunate circumstance. 

For that very margin by which Mr. 
Fairbanks' canvases are separated 
from the photographic in subject and 
manner is almost eliminated by the 
shortcomings of the camera. 

This young Boston artist, it will be 
remembered, won America's most im- 
portant scholarship, the Prix de Rome, 
this year, and has just sailed for a 
three vears' residence abroad, accord- 




ing to the terms of that endowment. 
That he is such an one as will profit 
by this opportunity seems beyond 

Mr. Fairbanks' work of late has been 
in the line of small canvases, elabo- 
rately worked out after the manner 
of the Dutch masters. He is a master 
of many subtle effects, such as the sub- 
duing of accessories in tone, while 
their detail is neverthless carried very 
far. He is a faithful draughtsman, and 
has made a deep study of the very im- 

portant element of edges which in his 
work are beautifully tender and lumin- 
ous. While there is not too much of 
the story-telling element, his people 
always have a sufficiently dramatic 
reason for being where they are. Al- 
though this never savors of melo- 
drama, it does enter the region of sen- 
timent, and usually of homely senti- 
ment. The Spanish masters, as well as 
the Dutch masters, have strongly in- 
fluenced Mr. Fairbanks' work, and 
also our own Boston artist, Mr. Tar- 



bell, under whom the younger artist 
has studied. There is, however, an in- 
dividuality about Fairbanks' paintings 
which makes it impossible to call them 
Tarbells, and, in fact, to even suggest 
the comparison is to run a risk of con- 
veying an erroneous impression of the 
quality of the work. And yet, one 
cannot omit such a comparison. For 
to Mr. Tarbell Mr. Fairbanks owes 
what a pupil of strong individuality 
owes to a teacher whose name has be- 
come identified with a certain manner. 
Mr. Fairbanks has not yet passed the 
impressionable age, and his three years 
of European study may quite alter his 
style, of which that which we have be- 
fore us may prove to be but a passing 
phase. All that can be said with cer- 
tainty is that the fulfilment of the 
present promise will place Mr. Fair- 
banks among our leading artists. 

Theatre beginning on November I, 
this sparkling comedienne has a worthy 
successor to "Divorcons," which was 
a marked triumph here just as it was 
in London. The new piece is the work 
of Thompson Buchanan, and it serves 
to show the cleverness of a bright 
woman. Her husband has a fondness 
for flirting, but she engineers a 
little dinner party, and brings things 
to a happy conclusion quite as ef- 
fectively as Cyprienne did in the Sar- 
dou comedy. In New York last year 
it was called one of Miss George's best 
works, and it is one of the pieces 
which she will give when she goes to 
London next summer. In the course 
of her engagement she will play a spe- 
cial matinee of "The School for Scan- 
dal," and for the support her company 
will be augmented by players from "A 
Gentleman from Mississippi," which is 
also under the management of William 
A. Brady. 

In "A Woman's Way," which Grace 
George will give at the Hollis Street 

When Henry W. Savage made 
known to an appreciative public that 
brilliant Viennese charmer, "The Merry 
Widow," it was generally agreed 

The Ei<ower gibxs in Henry W. Savage's production, 

Tremont Theatre 

The Love Cure, 



Grace George, who is pitying " In a Woman's Way, ; 
the Hoeus Street Theatre 


among commentators that a real suc- 
cessor would not make its appearance 
for the "standard" period of seven 
years. Just two seasons later, how- 
ever, this enterprising Bostonian has 
brought forward another operetta of 
the ultra-modern Viennese school that 
does inherit the mantle of mirth and 
melody worn with such grace by the 
fascinating "Widow." This work bears 
the title of "The Love Cure," and it is 
now playing at the Tremont Theatre. 

"The Love Cure" is a free adapta- 
tion by Oliver Herford of "Kuenstler- 
blut" (The Spirit of Art), an operetta 
that has for many months charmed the 
critical music lovers of the Austrian, 
and also the German, capital. The 
libretto in the original is the work of 
Leo Stein, co-author of "The Merry 
Widow," and Karl Lindau; while the 
score is by that distinguished composer 
of symphonies and other higher forms 
of music, Edmund Eysler, who is like- 
wise a Viennese. 



Stageland is the scene of the action, 
and the drama comes in the natural 
clash between the subjects of King 
Momus and those of the outer king- 
dom. There is the essence of romance 
in the deftly told love story, while the 
authors have likewise dared to do that 
most unusual thing, introduce a mo- 
ment of genuine pathos in the midst of 
the gayety and frivolity that pertains 
to light opera. 

The readvent of dainty Lina Abar- 
banell, who so won the affections of lo- 
cal theatre-goers last season as Sonia, 
in "The Merry Widow, 5 ' is a pecularly 
agreeable feature of the presentation. 
Mme. Abarbanell is jointly "featured" 
in the cast with Charles J. Ross, the 
erstwhile funmaker-in-chief of the 
Weber-Field forces. Mr. Ross, it may 
be noted, now appears for the first time 
in his long career as a serious actor, 
and scores brilliantly. 

At the Castle Square, the John Craig 
Stock Company appear for the first 
time in a grand production of Shake- 
speare's famous tragedy of "Hamlet." 
The stage settings and costumes will 
be elaborate, and Mr. Craig promises 
that every detail of the presentation 
will be complete. "Hamlet" has not 
been given for some eight years at the 
Castle Square, and the demand for its 
revival has been insistent, as has also 
been the desire to give the John Craig 
Stock Company still further opportu- 
nity to test its versatility in passing 
directly from musical comedy to trag- 
edy. Rehearsals have been going on 
for several weeks past, and there is no 
exaggeration in the statement that Mr. 
Craig and his players will give as fine 
a series of performances of "Hamlet" 
as has ever been seen in Boston. There 
is, of course, no need to describe 
"Hamlet." One of the greatest of the 
great English dramatist's plays, and 
one of the greatest dramas ever writ- 
ten, it is certain to attract a multitude 
of people who never neglect an op- 
portunity to see Shakespeare on the 

The title role is played by Mr. Craig, 
his first appearance in it for several 
seasons, and the Ophelia is Mary 
Young, who makes her debut in that 

character. The Queen is played by 
Gertrude Binley, with Theodore Frie- 
bus as Laertes, Donald Meek as First 
Gravedigger, George Hassell as the 
Ghost, Bert Young as Horatio, Wil- 
fred Young as Osric, and William 
Parke as the King. The run of "Ham- 
let" at the Castle Square will be lim- 
ited to one week. 

Another very strong attraction is 
Elsie Janis, at the Colonial. Elsie 
Janis is now a star comedienne, and 
at the Colonial she is now appear- 
ing in "The Fair Co-Ed," by George 
Ade and Gustave Luders, under the 
management of Charles Dillingham. 
Miss Janis' development in dramatic 
art is one of the notable stage features 
of the season. 

At the Park "The Man from Missis- 
sippi" is having the expected long run 
to full houses, and all who see it are 
enthusiastic advertising agents. 

Mr. Charles Dickson, who is the au- 
thor of "The Three Twins," may well 
rejoice over the way in which the play 
is staged and the musical quality of 
the songs, as well as over Mr. Clifton 
Crawford's acting. The Boston Thea- 
tre is doing a big business with this 
play, and the audiences are the most 
enthusiastic that we have seen in Bos- 
ton for several seasons. Mr. Craw- 
ford's appearance on the stage is an 
occasion for tumultuous applause. 
This clever actor is gaining a strong 
hold on the Boston public, with which 
he made so marked a hit in his early 
appearances with the Cadets. He 
brings out all the fun there is in the 
clever speeches and situations, and 
touches the risibilities of the entire au- 
dience as few actors succeed in doing. 
The pl